


The Secrets We Keep

by Creej



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Secrets, casefic, magical abilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 137,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creej/pseuds/Creej
Summary: Neal thought he knew his partner...but he's about to find out there's a lot more to Peter Burke than he ever imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter sat in the dark, waiting, his thoughts on Neal and he smirked a little. The ex con thought he knew all there was to know about Peter Burke, FBI agent but he didn't know this. Because, despite the almost complete lack of light, Peter could see perfectly well - in black and white but still quite well. The dark was no impediment.

His thoughts were brought back to his surroundings when the door to the loft eased open. The reason he was here was because the suspect in a series of art heists had targeted Neal - and their intel had told them he was dangerous - deadly dangerous. At each crime scene there'd been a body. The investigation was a joint one between White Collar and Violent Crime - Peter's division handling the robberies and V.C. handling the homicides. So far, the body count stood at five.

Peter sat perfectly still, barely breathing, in the chair by the couch as the intruder crept toward the bed, noting the night vision goggles. The bed was made up to look like Neal occupied it but in reality, Neal was safely away at the Burke house in Brooklyn.

Peter was up and on his feet when he saw the raised gun, silencer elongating the barrel and crept quickly over, handcuffs sliding silently from their place at the small of his back. The intruder fired one shot into the "body" and Peter moved, grabbing the hand with the gun and twisting, the gun clattering to the floor. There was a brief struggle and Peter almost lost the upper hand before he made a quick gesture. There was a brief flash of intense white light and the man ripped off the goggles with a shout. Peter took the opportunity to snap the cuffs around his wrists before shoving him onto the bed.

"Suspect secured," he said into the mic secreted in his sleeve. "He's all yours." Before backup could arrive, he went around and turned on a few lights - it wouldn't do for them to question how he'd managed to subdue the suspect in total darkness, especially when he wasn't equipped for it. Shaking out an evidence bag, he dropped the weapon into it, using his handkerchief to avoid contaminating it with his fingerprints.

"How'd you do it, man?"

Peter looked at the suspect with mild interest. The man was still blinking from the overloaded goggles...would be for a while unless Peter had inadvertently blinded him. He didn't think so - he'd deliberately kept the intensity at a low level, just enough to overload the goggles. "I'm just that good," he said, keeping the smirk out of his voice. Seconds later, back up arrived and hauled the man off, still blinking to clear his vision. He pulled out his phone and called Neal to let him know. "We got him," he said when the other man answered, clearly hearing the sigh of relief. "Of course you might have to replace your duvet...your pillow...oh, and your mattress. They got a little...ventilated. Tell El I'll be home soon. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow."

With that case wrapped up, Peter was back on a steady diet of fraud, embezzlement and scams - but he didn't mind. He knew that sooner or later, another interesting case would come along.

 

That happened sooner than expected when he and Neal - who still worked with the team - were conducting surveillance on a ring of suspected smugglers. Of course, they'd drawn the short straw and got the late shift and were sitting in the car, hoping for something to happen.

"You got your things replaced?" Peter asked, lowering the binoculars.

"Yeah, thanks for the head's up," Neal said. "It was a bear finding a pillow I liked but at least it wasn't _me_ that was ventilated."

"Always a plus,' Peter said. He glanced at Neal, seeing the thoughtful expression, knowing his mind was working, trying to figure something out. "Tell me," he said.

"When that guy, Richardson, was at the loft, you know, to...ventilate me, reports say he was wearing night vision goggles - which meant there was little or no light so...how'd you do it?"

"I had night vision goggles myself," Peter said. "Moz loaned them to me. You know how he loves Russian surplus."

"And if I ask Moz about it?"

"You really think he'd admit to helping a Suit?" Peter asked, brows raised. "Besides, why does it matter? It got done." Peter knew he wouldn't let it go even though he didn't say anything further. Neal loved a puzzle almost as much as he did and he had one. Besides, Peter was curious to see if his partner would figure it out.

"I think we have something," Neal said, indicating the apparently empty warehouse they were watching.

Peter raised the binoculars and looked, seeing two figures - men from the look - enter the building.

"Wanna take a look?" Neal asked, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Might see something interesting..."

Peter shot him a look but released his seatbelt as well. "Need I remind you..." he said as they exited the car.

"I'll be careful," Neal said in a tone that was almost _too_ innocent. "We've done this enough times..."

"Yeah, and usually you manage to get yourself into trouble," Peter said.

"You have my back, right?"

"Of course I do," Peter said. "I have to. El would kill me if anything happened to you. Come on, they've been in there a while."

When they approached the building, Peter motioned for Neal to stay behind him and opened the door a crack. Inside were a number of crates stacked two and three high, all sizes. Currently, one in particular was occupying their attention. Peter glanced back at Neal and eased inside, moving along the wall until a stack of crates hid him from view, Neal right behind him.

"Are you sure he wanted this one?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now hurry up, the truck's gonna be here soon. If we miss delivery on this, it's our heads on the block."

Before Peter could say anything, Neal had his phone out, shooting a quick text to Jones to let him know a delivery was about to go down.

"Get a good look at them, just in case," Peter murmured in Neal's ear. "We may have to put out an alert on them." He must have spoken a little too loud or sound carried very well in the large space because the men stilled, obviously listening.

"You hear that?"

"Yeah, it came from over there."

Peter cursed silently to himself, knowing he and Neal couldn't get out without being seen. Resigned, he muttered something and brought his hand down sharply in front of them. Neal watched incredulously as the men, with guns drawn, rounded the crates...and looked right through them. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation but Peter slapped his hand over it and shook his head. Endless seconds later, the men went back to the crate to be delivered and Peter and Neal left the warehouse as quietly as they'd entered. They made their way back to the car, Neal looking stunned, confused and completely nonplussed. Peter sat behind the wheel, Neal in the passenger seat, and waited for the inevitable questions.

"Peter? Why didn't they see us?" Neal asked calmly thought his voice held the slightest tremor.

"Lucky," Peter said, his tone making it a question instead.

"They looked right at us!" Neal said, brows lowered. "Explain that to me...please."

Peter sighed, resigned to telling Neal this at least. "I made us invisible," he said, hoping he could leave it at that. He should have known better.

"You made us...invisible," Neal repeated, his tone even. "And how, pray tell, did you do that?"

"Long story," Peter said.

"Give me the Cliff's Notes version then," Neal said.

"It's something I've been able to do for a while," Peter said. "Since I was a kid. I'm not sure how, just that I can."

"And what prompted this discovery?"

"Believe it or not, I was bullied in school," Peter said. "One day two upperclassmen - juniors - came looking for me and for no reason I can think of, I kept repeating to myself 'Please don't find me' over and over. They found me - or I thought they had. Just like now, they didn't see me even though they looked right at me." He shrugged. "It's come in handy a few times."

"I'll bet," Neal said, trying for sarcastic but not quite making it. "Does Elizabeth know?"

"She found out fairly early," Peter said. "I was trying to surprise her at home...well, I'll just say she started doing something...interesting. I need some measure of concentration." His mouth quirked in a reminiscent smile. "After she calmed down, we went forward with what I'd had planned."

"Anything else I should know?" Neal asked.

"Not right now," Peter said. "But, if you would, keep this between us?"

"No one would believe me anyway," Neal said. "How did I not even suspect this?"

"It's not like I go around telling everyone," Peter said. "El's the only one who knows...besides you."

The conversation was interrupted when Jones arrived and they busied themselves filling him in on the situation but Peter knew Neal wouldn't let it drop - he'd just wait until another time. They were waiting outside when the two men left the building and, while Jones and the other agent he'd brought along put them in cuffs, Peter and Neal reentered with ERT, who immediately began taking inventory and cataloging the contents of the two dozen or more crates that were being stored in the building. Peter could tell Neal's attention wasn't entirely on the proceedings despite the fact that a few bona fide masterpieces had been recovered.

"We'll talk this weekend," Peter said as they left the ERT guys to wrap up. "I know you have questions."

"Only a million or so," Neal said.

 

For the rest of the week, Peter noticed the...odd looks Neal kept giving him, as if he expected him to just suddenly vanish. He'd have to explain that it wasn't something he did lightly, only in circumstances such as the ones in the warehouse...but then again, Peter couldn't deny the appeal of keeping the ex con wondering if Peter was around even if he wasn't. Peter had a mischievous side that he rarely showed and he knew he would have fun keeping his partner guessing. And at least Neal had no inkling of the other...unusual things Peter was capable of. He knew Elizabeth suspected but she'd never asked outright.

"All right, come on," Peter said at the end of the workweek. "You can ask your questions....just wait until we get home, all right?"

"I bet you had fun with this little...magic trick, didn't you?" Neal asked as they took the elevator to the garage level.

"It's not a magic trick," Peter said. "Not really. But yeah, I admit to having fun with it. " He grinned. "It was great for sneaking into the movies or ball games," he said.

"I've always suspected there was hidden little delinquent in you," Neal said.

"Hey, I was a kid," Peter protested mildly. "All kids are delinquent to some extent."

 

"Hey hon," Elizabeth greeted when they entered. "Neal." She turned back to Peter. "How about we grill out tonight?" she asked. "I've got steaks marinating. Sound good?"

"Let me change and I'll get started," Peter said. Fifteen minutes later, he was manning the grill and discovered the lighter was out of fluid. With a quick glance inside - Elizabeth and Neal were occupied assembling a salad - he rubbed his thumb and index finger together and a small flame appeared, which he set to the newspaper crumpled amidst the charcoal. He shuddered a little, recalling an incident from his late teens and he'd nearly burned down an abandoned house when he'd lost control and threw a full sized fireball. Since then, he'd been _very_ careful when he used the ability.

 

When the steaks were cooked and consumed, the salad reduced to a few leaves of lettuce and bits of cheese, Peter, Neal and Elizabeth sat relaxing out on the back patio with beer (Peter and Elizabeth) and wine (Neal). "So, Elizabeth," Neal said. "You know Peter can...disappear?"

"I've known for a while," Elizabeth said equitably. "And there have been times I've been thankful for it, especially when he was with Violent Crime."

"What else can he do?" Neal asked curiously.

"That's all I know about," Elizabeth said. "Though I've heard him moving around in the dark without running into anything but that's probably because he knows the house so well."

It wasn't, not entirely but Peter didn't want Neal to know he could see in the dark.

"Aren't you curious though?"

"Of course I am but I figure he'll tell me if I need to know," Elizabeth said.

Neal looked at Peter, who raised his brows. "So there _is_ more," he said.

"There's more," Peter said.

"Such as?" Neal prompted.

Peter sighed, setting his beer on the table. He preferred they not know but he felt it was past time he was honest with Elizabeth. He brought his hand up and soon a tiny flame appeared and grew larger until it filled his palm. He let it burn a few moments before extinguishing it. Immediately, Elizabeth grabbed it, inspecting it for injury. All she saw were the the usual patterns of lines and creases. It wasn't even warm.

"How long?" Elizabeth asked.

"I was fifteen the first time," Peter said, looking at her a little uncertainly, as if afraid she'd recoil from him in horror. "And yes, I can see in the dark."

"So you didn't borrow night vision goggles from Moz when you took down Richardson," Neal said.

"No, I didn't," Peter said. "I don't need them."

"So it's like what? Infrared?" Neal asked. "Thermal imaging?"

"It's not like either," Peter said. "It's the same as normal vision except it monochromatic - black and white."

"Anything else?"

Peter gestured and the patio lit up with multicolored lights - subdued since Peter didn't relish a visit from the local precinct when the neighbors called about the strange lights coming from the Burke house. He cycled through the colors - red to violet - ending with a muted white that bathed their faces in a soft glow. "That's partly how I subdued Richardson," he said. "Overloaded his goggles."

"At least it's not dangerous," Neal said.

"It could be," Peter said. "Which is why I don't use it at full power. And only when I have to." Figuring he might as well let one more cat out of the bag, he went inside, returning with a paring knife. With an apologetic look at Elizabeth, he sliced open his palm - not deep, just enough to bleed freely.

"Peter!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Oh my God!"

Tossing the knife on the table, Peter murmured under his breath, drawing one finger down over the wound...and the cut disappeared, leaving only the blood behind. He took a napkin and wiped his hand clean. Not a mark. He took his seat, picked up his beer and waited for the questions.

Neal sat back in his chair, looking a little stunned and traded a look with Elizabeth. "Are you even human?" he half demanded.

"Don't be ridiculous," Elizabeth said a bit sharply. "Of course he is."

"As human as you are," Peter said. 'If you want I can show you the video my dad took of my birth. I told you, I don't know how, just that I can. I've spent years learning to control these...abilities and usually I can. It's only during times of high emotion that they get away from me. Concentration, remember?"

"So that's why you're so controlled," Neal said, recovering a little. "I thought that was just the way you are."

"Keller should be glad I am," Peter said. "Or I'd have turned him into a cinder when I caught up to him."

"You're not that kind of person," Neal said. "You're not like Keller."

"He threatened Elizabeth," Peter said. "I could certainly be like him under those circumstances."

"So why didn't you? Turn him into a cinder?"

"Because I'm not like him," Peter said, his mouth quirked. He sobered. "This stays between us," he said. It wasn't a request.

"Like I said, no one would believe me," Neal said. "Hell, _Moz_ wouldn't believe me."

There were a few more things they didn't know but Peter decided they'd learned enough for one night and hopefully, he wouldn't have cause to use his other abilities. He looked at Elizabeth, seeing she was digesting what she'd just learned about the man she'd married. "Hon?"

Elizabeth heard the uncertainty in his voice, saw it on his face and smiled. "It's a lot to take in but I can't say I'm surprised," she said. "I always knew you were special I just didn't know how special." 

They finished their drinks and Peter offered Neal the guest room for the night.

 

It shouldn't have surprised him when Neal got into trouble again - no fault of his own but his reputation as a first class forger _was_ still out there and someone decided that Neal would go to work for them.

The team suspected something was wrong when Neal failed to show up at the office for the third straight day and even Moz hadn't seen him. Despite being out of the life, both were still as thick as the thieves they once were. Peter knew drastic measures were called for when day six passed and the leads dried up. He suspected the newer members of the team were certain he was dead, his body waiting to be found. Peter retreated to his office and closed the blinds - the others didn't need to see what he was about to do. From a desk drawer, he retrieved a small mirror and propped it against his keyboard. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his thoughts, let go of his worry and concentrated on one name - Neal. The mirror clouded briefly and when it cleared, he saw Neal sitting on the floor of a room that was barely larger than the cell he'd occupied for almost four years. Satisfied his partner wasn't seriously hurt, Peter changed focus to the room's surroundings - was he still in the city? If so, where? Peter broadened the search and saw the building was in a decent neighborhood - not upscale but not a slum either.

He was startled back into his office by a knock on the door. He didn't know how long he'd been occupied but he'd managed to narrow down Neal's location to a few square blocks. Quickly, he put the mirror away and called for the person to come in. Jones opened the door and stuck his head in. "Peter I think we have something," he said then frowned slightly. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter said. rubbing his face a little. "Just a little tired. What do you have?"

"Moz heard a rumor about some forgeries hitting the market in the last few days - good enough to be Neal's."

"So, he's still alive," Peter said. "What else?"

"Lots of activity at one particular art supply distributor," Jones said. "Purchases are all high end brushes, paints, canvasses."

"Have you talked to them? Gotten an address?"

Jones sighed. "Yeah," he said. "Kelsey went to check it out. Drop off point - the place is abandoned."

"What's the address?" Peter asked, rising.

"It's empty, Peter. Nothing and no one there," Jones said.

"I'd still like to check it out myself," Peter said. "Address." When Jones gave it to him, Peter knew that's where Neal was - probably in the basement. "Stay here and see if you can find anything else. Lean on the distributor for a name or a description."

They left the office together - Jones going back to his desk while Peter proceeded to the elevator.

 

Neal looked up from his place on the floor when he heard the doorknob rattle, recognizing the sound of lockpicks being used. So, not his captors. Slowly he stood as the door swung open, breaking into a relieved grin as he saw his partner. "Peter..."

Glancing over his shoulder, Peter motioned him over. "All right," he said in a low voice. "Just like the warehouse. Not a sound."

Neal nodded and saw Peter make the same gesture he had before - bringing his hand down sharply in front of them - and mutter something under his breath. Slowly, cautiously, they made their way to the stairs, ears peeled for any sound that would alert them to company. Neither breathed easily until they were down the block where Peter had parked.

"So...any idea who?' Peter asked when they reached the car and buckled in.

"Someone from back in the day," Neal said tiredly. " _Way_ back in the day."

"Name?"

"Buchanan," Neal said. "Mark Buchanan."

"How many forgeries did he make you do?" Peter caught the faintly surprised expression and shrugged. "We know about the art supplies," he said. "High end brushes and paints...so how many?"

"Three," Neal said.

"You painted three forgeries in less than a week?"

"He had me working almost nonstop," Neal said. "If I was lucky I got an hour or so sleep between each one."

"Get some sleep," Peter said. "I'll let you know when we get home." Almost before he finished speaking, Neal closed his eyes and was asleep.

 

Neal was out of the office for the next week to recover from his ordeal, protesting the need to see the Bureau shrink but going anyway...after Peter threatened to put Elizabeth on his case. He was treated to an impromptu welcome back party when he was cleared for duty and he took it in stride with a minimum of preening.

"So, what's the case?" he asked Peter as he took his usual place in the visitor's chair.

"Antiquities smuggling," Peter said, passing him the file.

"Another John Mitchell?"

"Captain Mitchell was cleared, remember?" Peter commented. "Antiquities are going missing from Greece and Egypt. Trails lead to ports in Alexandria and Rhodes and both to ships bound for the States - New York to be exact. Intel has it the shipments will arrive in the next few days."

"Lots of warehouses and storage facilities in the port," Neal said. "Impossible to search them all. Any idea what ships?"

"It's been narrowed down to one small shipping company," Peter said. "We're in the process of finding out where they lease storage space. Should have it by the end of the day or tomorrow. Then..."

"Surveillance," Neal said with a sigh.

"No, we get ICE to request warrants to search their ships before they unload."

 

The warrants came through and Peter and Neal, along with a cadre of ICE agents, boarded a small ship docked in the port, the captain leading them down to where the cargo was stored. They found a number of different containers - crates, bins, pallets and a few steel drums. It was the click of a safety being released that alerted Peter and he reacted without thinking - surprised the man would take such a huge risk with agents swarming the ship. The captain's finger moved slowly to the trigger, his gaze fixed steadily on Peter as the gun came up at almost glacial speed. He closed the distance and wrapped his hand around the barrel, twisted then tossed the gun aside, a small part of him enjoying the shock in the captain's expression. He didn't look to see Neal's reaction as he cuffed the man and marched him up the stairs and out on deck into the custody of the ICE agents waiting.

"We need to talk again, don't we?" Peter asked as the captain and his crew were escorted off the ship and into the waiting vehicles.

"You think?" Neal said dryly. "I assume Elizabeth doesn't know about this."

"And you have no idea how hard it was for me to keep all this from her," Peter said. "It was a relief telling her as much as I did." He paused, gazing out over the harbor. "I don't like keeping secrets from her. You know that."

 

"So," Neal said when they were back in Peter's office. He counted on his fingers. "You can see in the dark, conjure flames and light, go invisible, heal fairly severe wounds and stop time."

"I didn't stop it exactly," Peter said, sounding a little self conscious. "Just...slowed it down a little, to give me time to react. And I didn't do it on purpose. It was...reflex, I guess." He rubbed his forehead. "One other thing and I swear it's the last," he said and retrieved the small mirror, laying on the desk.

"It's a mirror," Neal said.

"Yeah, it is," Peter said. "But it's what I can do with it - or any reflective surface." He gestured for Neal to come around the desk. "Watch," he said. The mirror clouded briefly and when it cleared, Neal saw Elizabeth sitting at the dining room table, writing in her planner, a glass of wine at her elbow, a frown of concentration creasing her brow. "It's how I found you when Buchanan took you," Peter said as the image faded. "Kelsey had checked the delivery address for those art supplies and reported it abandoned. I'd already narrowed down where you were to a few square blocks."

"And the address was in those few blocks," Neal said, resuming his seat.

"Yeah," Peter said, putting the mirror away. "And just FYI, I use a mirror because it gives the best image, the best reflection. If I absolutely had to, I could use a puddle of water."

Neal sat back, letting out a breath as he thought over what Peter had said. He frowned. "You didn't use any of this to catch me, did you?" he asked finally.

"All I used was what I just showed you," Peter said. "The rest wouldn't have helped. And I didn't use it that often. Two or three times when the trail almost went cold. Most of it was good old fashioned police work."

"And you won't use it on me now?"

"Only if I think I have to," Peter said. "I won't spy on you or anybody else."

Neal regarded him a moment then broke out in a grin. "I'll be damned, I have a bona fide superhero for a partner...wait, does that make me the sidekick? That makes me the sidekick. We should think of a cool name for you. Do you have a cool name? Because 'Agent Burke' is so pedestrian now that I think about it..."

"Neal..."

Neal stopped. "Yes, Peter?"

"Enough of the superhero talk," Peter said. "I'm not even though I can do some admittedly...interesting things. But..." He paused to fix his partner with a look. "Like all superheroes, I can't have everyone knowing what I can do. All right?"

"Elizabeth and I know," Neal pointed out.

"Yeah and every superhero also has people they trust to keep the secret," Peter said.

Neal's expression turned serious, knowing what Peter was trusting him with. "I won't tell anyone," he said. "You can trust me."

"I know," Peter said. He let out a breath. "Now, onto work...your favorite."

Neal groaned. "Let me guess...mortgage fraud."

Peter slid a few files across the desk. "Not all of them," he said. "Knock out two by the end of the week..." His expression turned mischievous. "...we can prank Mozzie."

Neal laughed and gathered the files as he stood. "Delinquent," he said and left, chuckling.

Peter smiled and turned his attention to his own cases, not missing the weight of the secret he'd kept for most of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter's abilities are cleric spells from the role-playing game Dungeons & Dragons, modified for this story. The order is as follows:1. Darkvision 2. Color spray 3. Invisibility 4. Fireball 5. Cure Light Wounds 6. Scrying and 7. Timestop


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew Keller's gone after Elizabeth but he has no idea what Peter has in store for him.

"Keller!"

Peter and Neal's chase of the dangerous criminal had led them to the warehouse district.

"Peter! There!"

Peter nodded and put on speed. Glancing quickly around, he let his hand grow warm and flames began flickering. Just as Keller rounded a corner, he let loose and fire licked around the building, just missing the other man. Peter cursed and slowed to a stop, Neal beside him.

"He could be anywhere," Neal said, breathing heavily. "Too many hiding places."

"He can't hide from me," Peter said. "Not for long anyway."

"Ah yes, I forgot," Neal said.

 

Three hours earlier...

 

"El! Close your eyes!"

A blinding white light filled the dingy apartment and two men slumped to the floor, unconscious. It was Neal who first realized Keller wasn't one of them. As another agent took Elizabeth home, Peter pulled out a small mirror, its surface clouding briefly before it showed Keller just outside the building, watching as Elizabeth was placed in a Bureau car, his expression both incredulous and thunderous.

"He's right outside," Peter said, slipping the mirror back in his pocket. "Come on. This bastard's going down."

Keller kept eluding them but not for long. Even so, it wasn't helping the mood of either man. Both wanted him put away for their own reasons - Neal for Keller's cold blooded murder of a partner and Peter because he'd taken Elizabeth and put her in danger. Now, they had to find him in the maze of warehouses that offered almost unlimited hiding places...and it was getting late.

"Can you find him?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, but it'll take a few minutes," Peter said, pulling out the mirror. But before he could get a fix, a shot rang out and Peter threw up a hand...and the bullet slowed to a near stop.

"Keller?"

"No, just the bullet," Peter said, knowing what Neal was asking. "Over there."

Having caught their breath, they ran to where the shot came from, seeing Keller round another corner. Again, Peter threw up a hand and Keller faltered briefly, making Peter curse. "Damn, just out of range," he said as they continued pursuit. But Keller's momentary pause allowed them to gain ground. They split up, hoping to box him in and prevent him from gaining access to the building - Neal going left and Peter staying on Keller's heels.

Peter didn't bother ordering him to stop. He knew he wouldn't - Keller had no intention of going down, quietly or not. Given half a chance, he wouldn't hesitate to kill if it meant his freedom and Peter being a Federal agent wouldn't change that. He gained a few more feet on the fleeing criminal and once again threw up his hand - this time Keller slowed to a crawl. Peter easily caught up to him, not even hurrying and plucked the gun out of his hand, tossing it aside. In one smooth move, he had him on the ground, hands pinned behind his back.

Just then, Neal rounded the far corner, a smirk curving his mouth when he saw Keller getting cuffed. As he stood beside Peter, he said, "Make sure he doesn't have anything he can pick them with."

"Oh, he won't," Peter said, hauling Keller to his feet. "Not if he knows what's good for him."

"Yeah? And what are you going to do?" Keller sneered. "You're just a used up Fed and his pet convict."

Peter raised his hand, feeling the tickle as flames licked around his fingers. "I'll burn you to a crisp," he said dangerously. "Give me a reason...please."

"Peter..." Neal said. "You're better than him."

"He took EL, Neal," Peter said, his gaze still on Keller. "I;m tired of the damned games."

"Oh, but they're so much fun," Keller said with an arrogant smirk. "I like knowing I can outsmart a Fed." But the bravado couldn't hide the touch of fear in his eyes as he stared at the flames Peter held.

"Keller, shut up," Neal said. "He's not playing."

"He won't do anything," Keller said. "He's too goody two shoes to hurt a prisoner."

"Under different circumstances, I'd agree with you," Neal said. "But taking Elizabeth...all bets are off."

"Ah yes, the lovely Mrs. Burke," Keller said. "How would she feel, knowing her husband murdered a defenseless man?"

"Who said she'd find out?" Peter asked. "Besides, she's no fan of yours either."

Neal pulled out his phone and called Jones, giving him their location. "Jones is on his way." He studied his partner a moment. "He can't escape, Peter, you know that."

"Have a little faith, Caffrey," Keller said.

Peter lowered his hand, letting the flames go out, hearing the truth in Neal's words. "ETA?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes," Neal said.

"More than enough time to make my getaway," Keller said. His arms shifted in Peter's grasp and the cuffs fell to the ground. Jerking out of the hold on him, he took off...but didn't get far. Again, he was slowed to a crawl when Peter lifted his hand. Neal handed him the cuffs as they once more caught up to him.

"He's not kidding around, Keller," Neal said as Peter cuffed him. "Piss him off and there won't be enough left of you to bother sweeping up." He didn't know if Peter was capable of such a thing, but then, neither did Keller.

"He wouldn't," Keller said but didn't sound completely sure.

"You involved his _wife_ , Keller," Neal said. "She had nothing to do with this."

"I was bored," Keller said. "And I wanted to play."

"And I'm tired of the games," Peter said. "So they end now." Once more Peter raised his hand and Keller froze - not because he wanted to but because Peter had slowed him to the point where blinking would take several objective seconds.

"At least that will shut him up," Neal said, leaning back against the wall. He regarded his partner a moment then asked, "Would you really have burned him?"

Peter sighed, shaking his head. "No, probably not," he said. "Like you said, I'm not like him. But I will say, I was tempted for a while."

It wasn't long before Jones arrived and Peter grabbed Keller's arm, breaking the near stasis he'd been in. This time when Keller looked at him, it was with an expression wholly unfamiliar on him - fear. Peter kind of enjoyed seeing it. "Jones, if you would..." Peter said, handing him over.

"Sure thing, Peter," Jones said. "Come on Keller, we're going for a ride."

"Yeah, sure," Keller said. "Just keep him away from me." He practically scrambled into the car and cowered in the corner furthest from Peter as Jones looked on, confused.

"What's with him?" Jones asked.

"No idea," Peter said. He leaned into the car. "Just remember, you can't hide from me. I _will_ find you."

 

Peter dropped onto the couch when he got home, tired from the chase, glad Keller was where he belonged.

"You got him?" Elizabeth asked, sitting beside him.

"Yeah," Peter said. "He led us a merry chase but we got him."

"Did you cheat?" Elizabeth asked, trying not to smile.

"No, I just used the resources I had available," Peter said. "Even though they were...unorthodox."

Neal gave an amused chuckle. "Unorthodox," he said. "That's putting it mildly."

Peter grinned. "They don't exactly teach it at Quantico, do they?"

Neal sobered. "Keller's bound to tell someone," he said. "That could lead to questions for you."

"He's not exactly a credible witness," Peter said. "And didn't you say even Moz wouldn't believe it? There was only one other witness - you and you won't tell, will you?"

"Of course he won't," Elizabeth said.

"I promised, Peter," Neal said.

"And he didn't hurt you?" Peter asked, pulling Elizabeth against him. "Sorry I didn't ask before."

"No, he didn't hurt me," Elizabeth said. "None of them did and I understand - you had to catch that psychopath."

"He didn't make it easy," Peter said. "But I knew he wouldn't."

"Well, you caught him and hopefully he'll be going away for a long time," Elizabeth said.

Neal leaned back in the chair he occupied. "I've been meaning to ask," he said. "What the hell happened in that apartment?"

"That's what happens when I use full power," Peter said. "I hadn't meant to, not really."

"High emotion," Neal said. "You lost control. But you still warned Elizabeth."

"Just as a precaution," Peter said.

 

Neal was right - Keller talked, almost ranting about how Peter's hands had been burning, how he'd been frozen to the point where he couldn't move - even his lawyer was looking at him oddly.

"He might be trying for an insanity plea," Neal said as they watched the interrogation.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a not guilty verdict on those grounds?" Peter asked. "His lawyer would have to be close to desperate to even consider it."

"And Keller isn't insane," Neal said. "He's a psychopath but not insane."

"And he isn't exactly sympathetic."

"There was a witness!"

A few seconds later, the door opened and the agent, Farnsworth, came out. "I understand you were with Agent Burke when he took Mr. Keller into custody, Mr. Caffrey?"

"I was," Neal said.

Farnsworth returned to the interrogation room, indicating Neal accompany him. Immediately, Keller's lawyer objected, citing bias on Neal's part.

"Mr. Daley, Mr. Caffrey is the witness your client says was there," Agent Farnsworth said.

"You saw it Caffrey, I know you did," Keller said.

"I saw Agent Burke take you into custody," Neal said.

"But he froze me!"

Neal put on his best confused face. "Froze you? I don't see how he could have," he said, furrowing his brow. "Do you mean like... I don't know, magic?"

"There's no such thing as magic!" Keller said, glowering. "You think I'm an idiot?"

"I think you're confused," Neal said. "There's no way Agent Burke could have frozen you, unless you consider magic...which you agree doesn't exist."

"That will be all, Mr. Caffrey," Agent Farnsworth said.

Neal nodded and looked at Keller, allowing the tiniest smirk to touch his mouth before he rejoined Peter out in the hall.

"It's not magic, you know," Peter said.

"Close enough," Neal said as they went back to Peter's office. "And that's what Elizabeth calls it." He settled in his usual chair. "So, what are your plans tonight? You bagged a big fish, calls for a celebration, don't you think?"

"Probably a quiet night in," Peter said. "We've had enough excitement for a while, I think." He smiled a little. "Elizabeth wants me to do her favorite trick for her."

"Which one is that?"

"The lights," Peter said. "She likes them."

"It's magic, Peter," Neal said.

"Maybe you're right," Peter said. And if Elizabeth said it was, who was he to argue?


	3. Chapter Three

"Damn it," Elizabeth muttered as the house was plunged into darkness. It wasn't just that that had her irritated - she could barely see the keyboard on her laptop and she had to finish the proposal she'd been working on when the breaker tripped. "Peter! Hon...could you?"

"On it!"

She sat still, listening as Peter came down the stairs without hesitation, glad that at times like this that her husband could see perfectly well in the dark. A few minutes later, the lights came back on and she let out a breath.

"I think we have a bad breaker," Peter said, coming into the dining room. "That's the third time in the past few weeks. I'll get Gary to take a look at it." He took a seat across from her. "How's it going?" he asked.

"Slow," Elizabeth said. "The client has so many conditions and restrictions, I got the contract almost by default."

"You'll figure it out," Peter said.

"I'm glad you think so because I'm beginning to wonder," Elizabeth said. She turned back to her laptop and Peter took that as his cue to leave her be. He had every faith that she'd pull it together - she'd had tougher clients.

 

When he heard Elizabeth give an exasperated sigh, he decided she could use a break. He stood behind her and gently closed the laptop. "Enough for now," he said.

"But..."

"You're getting frustrated, hon," he said. "That won't help you figure it out. So, step back, sleep on it."

Elizabeth sighed, tilting her head back to look at him. "Yeah," she said. "I might have bitten off more than I can chew with this one."

"I don't think so," Peter said. "It's just a bit more...tricky than you're used to, that's all."

"Tricky," Elizabeth repeated. "That's one way of putting it." She let out a breath. "But you're right, I'm too frustrated right now to keep going."

"So put it aside for now," Peter said. He squeezed her shoulders briefly then went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass of wine. He held out a hand, waiting for her to take it before pulling her to her feet. "Come on, time to relax," he said, leading her to the couch. He waited until she was settled, handed her the wine and sat beside her. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he lifted his other hand and the room was bathed in multicolored lights, smiling at her rapt expression.

"I'll never get tired of this," Elizabeth said, laying her head on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me a long time ago?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe I thought you'd think I was some sort of...freak."

"You're not a freak, hon," Elizabeth said. "You're...gifted." She nudged him a little. "Just don't freeze me, okay?" she said teasingly.

"I won't," Peter said then nuzzled her ear. "But I'll warm you up, if you want." He saw her somewhat wary look. "Not like that. I'd never do that to you."

"I know, hon," Elizabeth said with a smile. "I was just teasing." The lights disappeared and a small flame appeared in his hand. "That doesn't hurt?" she asked.

"It...tickles," Peter said.

"It tickles," Elizabeth said, watching the flame dance in Peter's palm.

"Yeah, it does," Peter said, letting the fire go out. He gave her a light kiss. "Anything else you want to know?"

"One more thing...how'd you find me so fast when Keller took me? I know you're good..."

Peter held up a finger then got up, going upstairs, returning a few minutes later with her hand mirror. "Watch," he said, sitting back down beside her. He heard her breath catch when the glass clouded a moment then cleared.

"What...?"

"Just watch," Peter said.

In the mirror, they watched as Neal sat at an easel, painting in broad strokes, Mozzie at the table, watching as he sipped a glass of red.

"That's happening...right now?' Elizabeth asked. "So how did this help you find me?"

"I can use it to find people," Peter said. "Kind of like GPS. It's how I found Keller too." He pulled her against him. "I'll always find you. No matter what."

"Do you have to use a mirror?"

"I don't _have_ to, no," Peter said. "I can use any reflective surface. A mirror is best and I can carry one with me."

"Any idea how you can do all this? I mean, where'd you get it from?"

"That's a question I've been asking myself for years," Peter said. "I'm no closer to an answer now than I was at the beginning." He lifted his hand again and the lights returned.

"Magic," Elizabeth said.

Peter didn't bother to correct her. It wasn't magic but he didn't know what it was so he accepted her definition.

 

The next morning brought very unwelcome news - Keller had escaped, killing a guard in the process. He was now a fugitive, considered armed and dangerous. Peter had been tasked to find him.

Neal entered Peter's office, closing the door. "Can you...?" He stopped, seeing the mirror propped against the computer keyboard. "I see you're already on it," he said.

"Yep, been looking for him, tracking him since we heard," Peter said, putting the mirror in his pocket and standing. "Let's go."

"Where?" Neal asked as they headed out.

"He has a safe house in Queens."

 

But they just missed him. By the time they got there, Keller was gone, tipped off about their arrival. So, once again, Peter had to track him down. And again, they just missed him. By the time they caught sight of him, he'd led them on a chase through three of the five boroughs. Unfortunately, it was in the warren of warehouses near the port.

"Figures," Neal said as they paused to get a fix on his location.

"Got him," Peter said. "This way. He's holed up down here." He led the way past a dozen or more buildings, zeroing in on one close to the harbor.

"You sure?" Neal asked. When Peter just looked at him, brow raised, he added, "Sorry. Of course you are."

As they approached the warehouse, they saw Keller and gave chase. "Keller!" Peter shouted.

Neal saw a flash of fear cross Keller's face when he glanced back and saw Peter gaining on him. He ducked around a corner, putting on speed but couldn't lose them. In what seemed to be a last ditch effort to do so, Keller tried every door he passed, hoping one would open. He found one and ducked inside, Peter and Neal on his heels. They stopped just inside, listening as Keller moved deeper into the building.

"Kinda dark," Neal said.

"And you know that's not a problem for me," Peter said. "But..." He raised a hand and a bright white light appeared. He indicated the direction Keller had gone.

As they got closer, Keller called, "Stay away from me Burke!"

"Can't do that Keller!" Peter called back as he and Neal continued to follow him. "You're a fugitive, killed a guard."

"Yeah, well you gotta do what you gotta do," Keller said.

"And you had to kill someone?" Neal asked.

"He was in my way," Keller said. "You know I hate to be locked up."

Neal nudged Peter and pointed between the racks that filled the space. Keller was making his way through them with an obvious destination in mind.

"Sorry," Peter said to Neal. "Gotta go a bit dark. Stay here." Obligingly, the ex con stopped and Peter snuffed the light, making his way quickly toward Keller. He realized what Keller was going to do when the other man grabbed hold of a ladder affixed to the wall. The ladder led up to an access hatch that opened out onto the roof. If Keller got to it, he could go from roof to roof, eluding pursuit. Peter didn't plan on letting him. As soon as he got close enough, he froze Keller in the act of climbing, well able to imagine the look of anger and frustration Keller wore. Peter paused to admire the sight for a moment before pulling Keller from the ladder.

"Peter?"

"Over here," Peter called back as he cuffed Keller and hauled him to his feet.

"A little help?"

Keeping a firm grip on Keller, Peter once more brought up the light. "I'll freeze you again," he said conversationally when Keller began struggling. It was fortunate for him that Keller didn't know that Peter couldn't multitask his abilities. But the threat was enough - Keller stilled. For a moment anyway. This time, Peter didn't bother with a threat and exchanged the innocuous - for the moment - light for a fire. "I _will_ burn you," he said in a low, threatening voice, a not so small part of him enjoying the fear on Keller's face. He ruthlessly shoved it down - he wasn't that kind of man. He wasn't like the criminal in his custody.

"You're a freak, Burke," Keller said, nearly spitting the words. "Does your wife, your friends know what a freak you are? Your fellow agents?"

"Everyone who needs to know already knows," Peter said as Neal joined them. "And I'm not a freak, I'm...gifted. That's what Elizabeth says."

"Your wife is a smart woman," Neal said then turned to Keller. "Just be glad Peter can control himself. Otherwise very bad things could happen to you."

"Let's go," Peter said, pulling Keller toward the door.

"I'd have called for backup but cell reception in here is total crap," Neal said. "Plus, I really couldn't see that well."

"Well Mr. Keller here won't do anything stupid," Peter said. "Will you?"

"You can't watch me all the time, Burke," Keller said as he was pushed out the door.

"Won't have to," Peter said. "Once you're back behind bars, I think I can pull enough strings to make sure you're confined to solitary. Won't take much - you're dangerous and a flight risk." He put Keller up against the car. "But, to make sure you don't go running off before then..." He gestured and Keller froze again.

"Jones will be here in about ten," Neal said, putting his phone away. He regarded Keller a moment. "How long will he stay that way?" he asked curiously.

"Until I grab him," Peter said. "Or let him go."

"You have to concentrate for that though, don't you?"

"No more than I am now," Peter said, leaning against the car. "He's not going anywhere. Remember the last time we caught him? When I had him frozen stiff?"

"Yeah, he couldn't move a muscle...until you handed him over to Jones," Neal said, understanding.

"That's it," Peter said.

"Handy," Neal said. "Better than cuffs."

"Yeah, but the cuffs are still useful," Peter said, a smile touching his mouth. "And I like the sound they make."

"Ah, so the straight laced Agent Burke has a kinky side," Neal said teasingly.

Peter gave him a somewhat sardonic look. "Have you met my wife?" he asked, amused.

"Neal grinned. "Bad influence?"

"No...just...interesting."

Just then, Jones arrived and Peter grabbed Keller, unfreezing him.

"I'll tell, Burke," Keller threatened. "You'll end up locked up in some lab..."

"Tried that before," Peter said. "Didn't work, did it?"

"Trust me, Keller, even Moz wouldn't believe you," Neal said.

Jones joined them and quickly sized up the situation. "He going on about you freezing him again?" he asked. He shook his head. "Come on." He took Keller and practically shoved him into the back seat. "They're holding your cell for you." Once the door closed, he turned back to Peter, looking at him assessingly. "Any truth to what he said?"

"I think he's trying for an insanity plea again," Peter said. He huffed out a laugh. "Do you really think I - or anyone - could do something like that?"

Jones sighed. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "Well, I'll take him off your hands. See you back at the office."

"You know, he might figure it out," Neal said as he and Peter got into the Taurus. "He's smart."

"Well, if he does - and that's a fairly big if - I'm sure he can keep a secret."

"You're probably right," Neal said.

 

"The guy's a freak!"

Peter smirked, hearing Keller's outburst as he and Neal listened in on the interrogation.

"Light...fire...he froze me!"

"Come on," Peter said. "It's time we put a stop to this."

When Keller saw Peter come into the room, he couldn't stop the flinch. "Keep him away from me," he said with an edge to his voice.

"Mr. Keller, Agent Burke is a well respected agent. He has no record of hurting a prisoner who's in custody."

"He doesn't have to touch me to do something," Keller said, eyeing Peter warily.

The other agent, Williamson, sighed. "Agent Burke, do _you_ have any idea what he's talking about?"

"I have no idea," Peter said.

"Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal shrugged. "Me either," he said.

"You saw it, Caffrey! Just like the last time!" Keller said.

"What I saw - both times - was Agent Burke take you into custody...using the usual methods, not...freezing you." He leaned back against the wall. "What you're implying is he used...magic, for lack of a better word. And everyone knows that's impossible. All magic..." He used air quotes around the word. "Is nothing but tricks. Are you saying he tricked you into freezing?"

Williamson raised his brows, barely hiding a smirk. "Magic, Agent Burke?" he asked.

"The only magic I'm capable of is making my wife's cooking disappear," Peter said.

"Well, you also do a pretty good job of making June's Italian roast disappear," Neal said.

Williamson turned back to Keller. "If you're trying for an insanity plea...it's very difficult to get a not guilty verdict using that as a defense. Ask your lawyer."

"I'm not insane!" Keller nearly shouted. "He..." He gestured at Peter with his cuffed hands. "He _froze_ me. And Caffrey saw it!"

"What, exactly, are you accusing Agent Burke of doing to you that you consider mistreatment?" Williamson asked. When Keller opened his mouth but didn't say anything, the agent sighed and stood. "We're done," he said. "I don't have time for this. He's all yours."

"You can't leave me here with him!" Keller protested when Williamson opened the door.

"You'll be fine, Mr. Keller," Williamson said and left.

"So...Keller," Peter said, leaning a hip on the table.

"I said...stay away from me."

"I'm not going to do anything to you," Peter said. "Except put you behind bars...again." He glanced up at the camera then at Neal, quirking a brow. Neal gave a nod, knowing what Peter wanted and moved to block the view.

"What are you doing?" Keller asked warily.

"Oh...nothing much," Peter said. He opened his hand, palm up and a small flame appeared. His gaze hardened and he leaned in, lowering his voice. "You took my wife, just to get at me, you've killed _how_ many people besides the guard? If I was less controlled, I'd have turned you into a pile of ash in that warehouse. You're lucky all I did was freeze you. He extinguished the flame but stayed close. "So, you can stop all this talk about magic - that's not what it is anyway. You tried once before and you weren't believed so no one will believe you now. But keep on spouting that crap and you may get to serve your time in a psych ward...strapped to a bed and heavily medicated." He straightened, gesturing Neal toward the door.

"Would you have really?" Neal asked as Keller was led out for processing.

Peter sighed. "Not intentionally," he said. "I'm not sure I could anyway." He shrugged a little. "But I'll admit the prospect was tempting, especially after he took El. The only time I did any real damage, I was in my late teens. Almost burned down an abandoned house."

"And what did the fire department say was the cause?" Neal asked when they were in Peter's office and took their seats.

Peter shrugged. "I wasn't made privy to the investigation so I have no idea."

"You could find out, use your influence as an agent," Neal said.

Peter gave him a look that conveyed quiet well what he thought of that suggestion. "And what possible reason could I give for the Bureau's interest in a twenty year old fire? There were no fatalities unless you count a nest of rats so..."

"But it's bothered you," Neal said.

"Yeah, it has," Peter said. "Because that's when it hit me how dangerous what I can do can be. Keller's the longest I've ever frozen someone but it was only for twenty minutes or so. I have no idea what it would do if it were longer. The light...I could probably blind someone, not just knock them out for a while."

"But the other things you can do..." Neal said. "How many times have you gotten rid of my knife wounds? Or when a bullet grazed me - or you? Or some perp split my lip? And that seeing in the dark thing?" He shrugged. "Sounds kinda cool." He grinned. "Wish I had that back in the day...and the mirror thing. Would have made it a lot easier to avoid the guards."

Peter chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You did pretty well without it," he said.

"Well, you know me, always looking for an advantage," Neal said. He sobered, gazing at his partner. "I know you're not worried about it but what if someone believes Keller?" He shrugged. "It's possible, you know."

"I know it's possible but they wouldn't be able to prove it," Peter said. "They'd have to get video or something and even in that case, they'd have to prove it wasn't photoshopped."

"You've thought this through," Neal said.

"I have," Peter said. "That's why I'm not worried." He smiled a little devilishly. "Everyone knows magic isn't real."

Neal smiled. "Well, there are a couple people who know it is," he said. "...and we still need to think of a cool name for you."

"I know how imaginative you are but could you really come up with a name that describes everything I can do? My abilities are rather...eclectic."

"Yeah, that would be difficult," Neal conceded.

"And anyway, I much prefer 'Agent Burke'," Peter said. He retrieved the many forms he needed to fill out in regards to Keller's arrest. "Unfortunately I have nothing that will help me with all the paperwork."

"I'll leave you to it," Neal said, rising. "I have my own to fill out. But at least this time, not _everything_ that happened in the field can go in the report. No one would believe how you actually found him and caught him."

 

At the end of the day, Peter stopped by Neal's desk and asked, "You free tonight? El would like you to come to dinner."

"You know I never turn down an invitation from Elizabeth," Neal said, gathering his things. "What's on the menu?"

"Those Cornish game hens you like," Peter said as they left. "She also picked up a nice bottle of Pinot Noir."

"But you'll have your usual beer," Neal said. "Not a good pairing, you know."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You've known me long enough to know I occasionally have a glass of wine," he said. "But yes, I prefer beer. I'll have a glass because El wants to celebrate. She finally figured out how to please a very...particular client."

"How particular?"

"More particular than you are about wines," Peter said. "Come on. If we're late we're both in the doghouse and Satch gets our dinner."

 

After Elizabeth greeted them, she stood back and looked them over. "Rough day?" she asked.

"Keller escaped," Peter said. "We had to chase him down."

"And you cheated to do it," Elizabeth said, an impish smile touching her mouth.

"No, I used the unorthodox methods at my disposal," Peter said.

"But you got him."

"Yeah, we did," Peter said. "And if he keeps on about me using magic, he might end up in a psych ward."

"Magic doesn't exist," Elizabeth said. "Everybody knows that." She retreated to the kitchen as the two men found seats, returning with three glasses and a bottle of Pinot.

"Peter told me about your latest client," Neal said, accepting the wine.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I'm tempted to charge them extra just for the aggravation," she said, sitting beside Peter with her own glass. "So, Keller's back in custody and my client is satisfied. A good day for all of us."

"Here's to us," Neal said, raising his glass in salute. "We know how to get things done."

They drank and Elizabeth looked at Peter with a slightly pleading expression. "Will you?" she asked.

"Of course," Peter said. He raised a hand and the multicolored lights appeared, slowly cycling from red to violet and back.

As Neal observed Elizabeth's almost childlike wonder and Peter's obvious love for his wife, he realized there was more than one kind of magic in the world - Peter's was just one.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Peter get injured in a firefight but, thanks to Peter, no one's the wiser.

"Peter!" Suddenly, Neal was beside him, behind a stack of crates, blood leaking down his leg.

"How bad are you hit"

"A graze, more or less," Neal said, wincing a little.

"Is it more or less?" Peter asked.

"I'm fine, nothing to worry about," Neal said. "What about you?"

"Just a little out of breath, probably bruised a little," Peter said. "Took a round in the vest."

They both ducked when a shot came a little too close. "Any idea who started this little gunfight?" Neal asked.

"I'm betting that little dweeby looking guy, Hickman," Peter said. "He's been acting twitchy since we ID'd him."

"Yeah, noticed that too," Neal said, flinching as another shot whizzed by. "Never would have guessed he was the mastermind behind the thefts, would you?"

White Collar had been handed the case of a series of thefts of jewelry, antiquities and paintings over a month earlier and it had taken them weeks to pinpoint who was behind the ring of thieves - one Duane Hickman. They'd traced the stolen items to this warehouse and shots rang out as soon as they identified themselves. Now, Peter and Neal were pinned down behind a stack of crates with Jones and SWAT who knew where. Finally, the shooting stopped and Peter peered over the crates to see Jones and the other agents with him cuffing the gang. "All right, let me see," he told Neal.

"It's nothing, Peter," Neal said.

"You're bleeding. It's not nothing," Peter said. "Or do you want to go to the hospital?"

"You know I hate hospitals," Neal said then gave a resigned sigh and pulled his pant leg up to show a bloody groove scoring his calf.

"You'll have to sneak past Jones," Peter said, running his finger along the wound. "He's almost guaranteed to notice."

"That I can do," Neal said, watching his wound close and disappear. "It won't scar, will it?"

Peter held out his other hand, palm up, silently reminding his partner of the time he'd sliced his own hand then healed it. "There, good as new and no scar," he said.

Neal flexed his leg then stood, pulling Peter to his feet, noticing the wince. While the vest had prevented serious injury - or death - the impact from the bullet would leave a nasty bruise. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'll take care of it before I go home," Peter said. "Come one, Let's get these guys rounded up." He managed to hide his discomfort and Neal snuck past as the gang was loaded into the vehicles for transport downtown. Once the others left, Peter removed the vest and opened his shirt, hearing a sympathetic hiss from Neal when he lifted his T-shirt to show a deep bruise blooming on his chest. "This might take a minute," he said, rubbing his hand over the injury. As Neal watched, the bruise faded until the skin was unmarked. "Don't you _dare_ tell Elizabeth," Peter said, straightening his clothes.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Neal said as they got in, Peter tossing the vest in the back.

It was a short ride to the office and Neal disappeared into the bathroom to get as much blood as he could out of his trouser leg. He'd have to get Moz to repair it.

Fortunately, Peter decided they'd had enough for one day and sent everyone home once the gang had been processed - early by Peter's usual standard.

As it had become something of a tradition after closing a big case, Peter invited Neal to dinner, arriving at the house in Brooklyn not long after Elizabeth. As they hung their jackets up, she looked them over, her sharp gaze picking out the remnants of blood on Neal's trousers. "How bad was it?" she asked.

"Not too bad," Neal said. "Honest. Peter fixed me right up. You'd never know."

"And you, hon?"

"Not a scratch," Peter said. He never lied to his wife and technically he hadn't - a bruise wasn't a scratch.

She gave him a nod and said, "Well, you had a busy day and I've had a busy day so how about we get take out?" This met with agreement and she said, "You go get changed and I'll make the call. Neal, there should be something for you in the guest room from the last time."

"So, you got them," Elizabeth said when they came back downstairs.

"It took a while but yeah, we did," Peter said, sitting on the couch with her as Neal took the chair. "Not sure how much we'll recover but the gang's out of business."

After a convivial meal over which they dissected their days, Neal bid them good night and returned to the loft at June's.

But the case wasn't done with them yet.

TBC


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, Neal and the team have taken down a robbery ring, suffering minor injuries in the process but the case wasn't over yet.

Neal groaned and opened his eyes, squinting at the inordinately bright light. It took him a few seconds to register that he wasn't in his bed - and he wasn't alone. "Peter!"

"Neal?"

Neal sat up, hissing at the stab of pain that shot through his head at the movement. Once his head cleared, he stood and made his way over to his partner who was laying one of the two beds in the room. As he helped Peter sit, he looked around - the room contained two beds, a sink with a mirror over it and a semi-private toilet. There were no windows and the door was steel. A shelf bisected it about waist high with a slot and there was no knob. There was also a speaker and a camera, placed in such a way that there were no blindspots.

"Where are we?" Peter asked.

"No idea," Neal said. "But, as far as solitary confinement cells go...this one isn't so bad."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was on my way to the office," Neal said. "What about you?"

"Same thing," Peter said. "Took the subway since El needed the car." His breath caught. "El..."

"There's a mirror," Neal said in his ear. "I'll block the camera."

Peter nodded his thanks and, with Neal's help, made his way to the sink. Moments later, the mirror clouded then cleared, showing Elizabeth sitting in the living room, looking scared, pensive and a little pissed off as agents took over the dining room table, setting up recording devices and a trap-and-trace on the phone. "She's okay," he whispered, relieved. Since he was there, he took the opportunity to splash water on his face and drank from his cupped hands, leaving the tap on for Neal.

"So, any idea who has us?' Neal asked as they sat on the beds, facing each other.

"You know as well as I do, the suspects list is as long as my arm," Peter said.

"At times like this, I wish I still had the tracker," Neal said.

"It would certainly come in handy," Peter said. "Especially since our phones are probably gone."

Neal patted himself down and came up empty. He sighed and laid back, hand behind his head. "They're looking for us," he said.

_"I'm sure they are."_

Peter mirrored Neal on his own bed. "So, what exactly do you want? Maybe we can make a deal."

_"The deal is, you'll be released when the charges against my...colleagues are dropped."_

"And who might they be?" Peter asked.

_"Duane Hickman and his crew."_

"Oh, you mean the multiple charges of robbery, possession of stolen property and assault on Federal officers," Peter said. "Yeah...not happening."

_"Then I guess the two of you will die in there."_

"That's not happening either," Peter said. "I get the impression you have no idea how determined or how good my team is."

_"They have to have somewhere to start looking."_

Peter smirked. "I'm sure they'll find it," he said. He glanced at Neal, brow raised when Neal mouthed "Moz."

The quirky little man was probably the first person Jones would call, making use of his extensive network of contacts. If Moz didn't know, he knew who to ask...and _how_ to ask. Moz still had some influence with the Five Families through the Detroit mob and if he didn't use it on Peter's behalf, he'd use it on Neal's.

"Well, since you think we're going to be here a while, we're going to need some way to pass the time," Neal said. "You know, books, cards...board games for all I care. So, what do you say?"

_"Have a...pleasant evening, gentleman."_

 

"Agent Jones, sir? This just came for you." The mail clerk handed Jones an envelope, gave him a nod and continued his rounds.

Frowning a little, Jones opened the plain white envelope and removed an index card. On it was printed a web address. He didn't have time for games or riddles - not with both Peter and Neal missing - but he knew he had to check it out, just in case. He sat at his desk and typed in the address. Immediately, a video began playing, showing a figure in shadow, the voice obviously disguised as it began speaking. "Agent Jones. As I'm sure you know, two of your people are missing - Agent Peter Burke and Mr. Neal Caffrey. Let me assure you, they're still very much alive and will remain so unless certain conditions are met. One, all charges against Duane Hickman and his associates are dropped. Two, all property he's acquired is returned to him and three, there is no record of his arrest. Once I receive proof these conditions have been met, I will release both men. As a gesture of good faith, I will allow you to observe them and ascertain they have come to no harm." The video ended and a web address was displayed. Jones knew he should call Elizabeth to update her and he would - after he made sure the kidnapper wasn't jerking them around. If it was legit, he'd get the techs to trace the transmission if at all possible, knowing they'd make it top priority - two of their own were missing. Once more he typed an address and, in black an white, saw a room with two men - Peter and Neal. He watched a few minutes longer to be sure it wasn't a static picture, satisfied it wasn't when Neal sat up then went over to Peter. Jotting down the information, he grabbed his jacket and corralled a probie. "Get this down to the techs," he said, handing her the post-it. "See if they can get a location. If anything comes up, give me a call. I'll be at the Burke's."

"Yes sir."

He took the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, pulling out his phone. He wasn't sure how happy Moz would be to get a call from a Fed who wasn't Peter but it was Neal missing as well and he knew how tight they still were.

"Who is this and how did you get this number?"

"Mozzie, it's Jones. We have a situation. Peter and Neal are missing."

"Missing? When?" Moz demanded.

"Near as we can tell, sometime yesterday morning," Jones said. "Neither one made it to the office."

"I'll ask around," Moz said. "Any idea who?"

"An associate of the head of that robbery crew we took down last month," Jones said. "Duane Hickman." Hit by sudden inspiration, he added, "Take down this web address and see what you can find. Our techs are good but you're better."

"All right, I'll get back to you when I have something," Moz said after Jones gave it to him then disconnected.

Jones didn't think anything of Moz's abruptness - that's just how he was. He wasn't big on social niceties and if anyone could get information, it was him.

An hour later, he was in the Burke's living room with a laptop open on the coffee table, explaining the situation to Elizabeth as he called up the feed from where her husband and Neal were being held.

"At least I know they're alright," Elizabeth said, scrubbing her face. She let out a breath. "So, will you? Drop the charges against this Hickman?"

"Only as a last resort," Jones said. "We have our techs seeing if they can trace where this is coming from. Moz is too and he's going to ask around to see if anyone knows anything." He grasped her hand, squeezing briefly. "We'll find them and bring them home," he said.

 

Neal's eyes opened from a light doze when the slot opened and two trays were pushed through. "Looks like our lunch is here," Peter said, rising from the bed. It consisted of burgers, fries and a salad along with a microbrewed beer. Neal made a face at the beer but didn't comment. "I'll have El open a bottle Reisling when we get home."

"I happen to know she has a bottle of Shiraz stashed somewhere," Neal said, nibbling on a fry.

"And how do you happen to know that?"

"I gave it to her for her last birthday," Neal said. "And I'm pretty sure she hasn't opened it yet."

"Guess we'll have to wait and see," Peter said. "If she has, I'm sure Moz can be persuaded to part with a bottle from his stash."

"Which is mostly comprised of what he appropriated from mine," Neal said, picking the pickles off his hamburger, which Peter immediately snagged for his own. He studied the label on the beer, noting it was a local brew before twisting the cap off and taking a drink. "This isn't bad," he said. "A tad bit yeasty but not bad."

"So it doesn't offend your refined palate?" Peter asked, amused.

"I'll just say my palate was been...expanded by our association," Neal said.

Once they finished, Peter returned the trays and began examining the room more closely. As Neal had observed, it was remarkably like a solitary confinement cell, except more...homey. The beds were regular twin beds that could be purchased in any furniture store - not cots or metal shelves with hard, thin mattresses - the sink and toilet much like those in his own bathroom at home. Last, he inspected the door. Sheet metal - heavy gauge steel from what he could tell - one solid piece, interrupted by the shelf and the slot. He tried the slot, wondering if it would open and if so could he reach the lock but not surprised when it was a bust. "Whoever this guy is, he planned this for a while," he said, seated once more on the bed. "So, how did you pass the time while you were inside?"

"Which time?" Neal asked, making himself comfortable.

"The first time."

"Well, mostly I thought about what I'd do when I got out," Neal said. "Planned two and three person jobs, where we'd hit...you know I came up with a plan to steal the crown jewels?" He grinned.

"Not the Mona Lisa?" Peter asked, brows raised.

"Nah, you don't steal the Master," Neal said. "Besides, that has almost Fort Knox level security." He blew out a breath. "After I was sent back it was mostly worry about Kate and hoping you'd agree to the deal I'd suggested. And after Kate...well, I didn't do much thinking at all - spent most of the time trying to process, you know?" He regarded his partner. "What about you?" he asked. "What did you do when Lang had you?"

"Well, I kept busy picking the cuffs and getting inside his head then breaking out when you talked me through it."

"What did you use?" Neal asked curiously.

"Safety pin," Peter said. "It was on the inside of my jacket."

"Not the best thing to use but it obviously worked," Neal said.

"Had to work with what I had," Peter said. "Lang was so focused on getting the ransom and making plans, he didn't notice what I was doing...plus I was getting to him, keeping him distracted."

Even though they hadn't been there long, Peter could see Neal was getting restless. His partner wasn't one for sitting idly, always moving, doing, _being_. This ordeal would be much more difficult for him than it would be for Peter. They were startled when the slot banged open and another tray was pushed through - this one holding a deck of cards, a pad of paper and a few pencils. "Have you told my team what you want?" Peter asked.

"I've made them aware of my demands. And of your condition."

"And they should believe you...why?" Neal asked.

"They can see you. I have no intention of harming either of you...unless they fail to comply."

Neal grabbed the paper and pencils as Peter took the cards and, casually shielding the paper, wrote: You think the techs can trace the feed?

Peter tilted his head a little, the gesture conveying that he thought they could, given enough time. That was one advantage of having worked together for so long - almost able to carry on an entire conversation with just facial expressions, body language and gestures. "So, a game?" he asked, shuffling the cards. "Poker? Gin? Go Fish?"

"Go Fish? Seriously?" Neal asked on a laugh and Peter grinned. "Ever play Tonk?"

"High or Low?" Peter asked.

"High," Neal said. "Deal already."

Peter moved to face Neal on his bed and dealt each a hand. "Score?" Neal asked.

"Sure, why not...and no cheating," Peter said. "I'll be looking for palmed cards."

Neal looked at him, mock disgusted. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you?" Under the guise of keeping score as they played, Neal wrote: Think you can use your magic to get us out?

"I could try," Peter said in a nearly inaudible whisper. "Not sure how though. Ideas?"

"Not at the moment," Neal said just as quietly.

And so they played until they got bored and Neal switched to sketching while Peter decided to take a short nap. After what seemed hours, the slot opened again and dinner was served - porterhouse steaks, baked potatoes, salad and the same microbrew that they'd had with lunch. Once they finished and the trays returned, Peter glanced at the camera then at the mirror. When Neal moved into position, he went to the sink and rinsed out his mouth, gazing into the mirror until Elizabeth appeared. It didn't surprise him to see her sitting on the couch, staring at a laptop, most likely observing them. "Neal," he said, gesturing at the camera. "He said they could see us."

"Oh...yeah," Neal said, moving to sit against the headboard. "Say 'Hi' to Elizabeth for me."

Looking straight into the camera, Peter said, "Get some rest, hon. We're both fine."

"You know she probably won't," Neal said as Peter sat on his bed.

"Yeah, I know," Peter said with a sigh.

Not long after, they each stripped down to T-shirts and boxers, sliding between the sheets. Since they couldn't turn off the light, they ignored it and closed their eyes. Thus ended their first day in captivity.

 

"Anything on that website?" Jones asked.

"Not yet, sir," the tech, Osborne, said. "It's bouncing around all over the country. It'll take a while to track down the point of origin."

"It's been three days, Osborne," Jones said, aggravation leaching into his tone.

"I know that sir and we're doing our best but this guy's good. He knows what he's doing. We'll keep at it until we have a fix."

Jones hung up, scrubbing his face, wishing - not for the first time or even the tenth - that Peter was there instead of locked away in some cell somewhere. He called up the video again, seeing Neal and Peter engaged yet again in some card game or other but even he could see how restless Neal was. Neal hated enforced inactivity and Jones was surprised Peter was as calm as he was - usually a restless Neal irritated him no end. He almost didn't answer his cell when it rang but Moz's latest update had indicated he might have a lead. "Tell me you have something Mozzie," he said.

"As a matter of fact I do," Moz said. "Those associates of Mr. Hickman's? I found one who's been incommunicado for almost a week. He and Hickman go way back along with one other."

"Names?"

"I was getting to that," Moz said a little testily. "James Rayburn and Thomas Ferguson. Ferguson's a computer whiz."

"So he's probably the one who's rerouting the feed all over the country," Jones said.

"You people caught that? I'll admit I'm impressed."

"Have _you_ gotten a fix?" Jones asked, a little irritated.

"I've narrowed it down," Moz said. "They're somewhere in the Greater New York Metropolitan area."

"That's a lot of ground to cover."

"I'm aware," Moz said. "But I"m not done yet." With that he hung up and Jones turned his attention to digging up what he could on the names Moz had given him.

 

As he'd done every morning for the last four days, Peter checked on Elizabeth as he brushed his teeth - their captor having provided them with minimal toiletries that second morning - and saw the ordeal was beginning to wear on her. The fact that she could see him, see he was okay wasn't helping. But, somewhat miraculously, neither he nor Neal had gone stir crazy yet even though Neal was restless.

"So, ideas?" Peter asked, letting Neal have his turn at the sink.

"I think so," Neal said. He sighed, scratching at the beard he was beginning to grow. "the first thing I'm going to do once we get out of here is take a long hot shower...and shave."

Peter scratched at the growth on his own face. "i know what you mean," he said. "I look terrible in a beard."

"Better than with a mustache...Mario," Neal said with a grin, flopping onto the bed.

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" Peter asked with a groan.

"Not for a while, no," Neal said.

"So, ideas?"

Neal picked up the sketch pad, writing briefly before handing it to Peter. Once Peter read it, he wrote his own short note. Back an forth they went, filling up half a dozen pages as they refined their plan to something that had a good chance of succeeding. Neal had one concern however - that Peter would have to expose his abilities for them to escape - not to just their captor but to everyone who might be watching. Elizabeth knew of course but Moz and the team had no inkling.

"If it comes to that, I'll deal with it," Peter said. "Anyway, I doubt the team would believe it and Moz wouldn't be believed."

"One of the downsides of being a first class conspiracy theorist," Neal said. He regarded the other man a moment then asked, "Would you mind if Moz knew?"

"If it came down to it..." Peter paused, thinking. "Not really...as long as he didn't insist on doing any experiments."

"Well, if it works the way we planned, no one will see anything," Neal said.

"You'll have to be careful though," Peter said.

"Always am. So, when do you want to try?"

For the first time in a few days, they heard from their captor. _"If you're planning to escape, I assure you, your accommodations are quite secure. The only way you leave is if my demands are met."_

"So how long does my team have to comply?" Peter asked.

_"Mr. Hickman is up for arraignment in two weeks."_

"Well, just think, you might be able to share a cell with your good buddy," Peter said. "Kidnapping a Federal officer and a Federal contractor carries a stiff penalty. Doesn't matter how well you take care of us."

_"I'll suffer no penalty. You'll never identify me."_

"Arrogant bugger, aren't you?" Neal asked.

_"Merely stating fact, Mr. Caffrey."_

 

It was another two days before Moz got a fix on the feed and he braved the Federal Building to inform Jones of the location. "They're in Glen Cove, Long Island," he said, giving him the address.

"Nice work, Mozzie," Jones said, gathering his things.

"When are we leaving?"

"We? No, Moz, I can't take you with us," Jones said.

"Neal's my best friend!"

"And you're a civilian," Jones said. "I'm sorry, I can't." He regarded the other man, seeing the worry behind the outrage. "I promise, we'll bring him back in one piece. You have my word."

"As if the word of a Fed was worth anything," Moz grumbled but acquiesced. Jones gave him a nod and gathered the rest of the team.

 

"You ready?" Neal asked.

"Close your eyes. It's gonna get bright in here," Peter said. When he felt Neal had protected his eyes sufficiently, the room filled with a blinding light, his aim to disable the camera long enough to do what he planned next. Putting a hand on Neal's shoulder, he brought his other hand down sharply, well able to imagine the reactions of those watching. To them, the room would appear empty once the camera came back online - provided he hadn't fried it completely. "You okay?" he whispered in Neal's ear.

"Yeah, no problem."

Together they took the few steps to the door. Now, it was a waiting game. Either the slot would open - and Peter was pretty sure he could freeze anyone on the other side through it - or the door itself would open as their captor made sure they were still inside. Endless minutes later, they heard footsteps approach and held their breath.

"You said they wouldn't be able to get out!"

"They couldn't have! See? The door's still locked...maybe they're hiding..."

"Give me the key."

They both grinned at the aggravation in the first voice then heard the welcome sound of a key slotting into a lock, followed by the door opening. Hard as it was, they waited until it opened fully and two men stepped in, their confused looks almost making them laugh. Peter's brows rose when Neal effortlessly, undetectably, lifted the key from the first man's pocket, immediately understanding what Neal was thinking - time to turn the tables on their captors. Quickly they left the room and Neal slammed the door, locking the two men in, exchanging a grin with his partner at the startled yells from inside.

"We'll have to come up with a story to explain how we got out," Neal said as they went down the short hallway to the stairs.

"We stick as close to the actual truth as we can," Peter said. 

"No mention of you shorting the camera and making us invisible," Neal said. "So okay, the camera glitched, they came to check on us, we shoved them inside and locked them in."

They quickly found a phone and, while Peter called Jones, Neal looked around. "Looks like you can add possession of stolen property to the kidnapping charge," he said. "Half a dozen of these paintings are listed as stolen. These two vases, that figurine, that statue and, I'd be willing to bet, there's a safe here somewhere with the missing jewelry."

"See if you can find it," Peter said, finishing up with Jones. "It'll be about another hour before they get here."

"They traced the feed?"

"Moz did," Peter said.

"So where are we exactly?"

"Long Island. Glen Cove."

It took Neal all of fifteen minutes to find the safe and another five to crack it, finding - as he suspected - most of the missing jewelry. He placed it on a side table near where Peter had gathered the rest of the stolen items.

 

"Peter?"

"In here, Jones!"

Jones stopped short in the living room doorway, unable to stop the grin that split his face. "Damn but it's good to see you," he said. He quickly composed himself, becoming Agent Jones once more. He raised his brows at the items collected.

"Add those to the list of recovered items," Peter said.

"So, who had you?" Jones asked.

"They're downstairs," Neal said, handing him the key. "I doubt their future accommodations will be as comfortable."

"Yeah, we saw," Jones said. "It was nicer than my first apartment." He gave them a nod and tagged another agent to accompany him downstairs.

"You should call Elizabeth," Neal said. "Though I'm sure she could figure out what happened."

Minutes later, Peter was talking to his wife. "I'm fine, hon. I promise. We both are. No, they didn't do anything to us. We're in Glen Cove so it'll take a bit to get back. I'll come home first thing. I imagine you'll have me underfoot for a few days at least." He quirked a smile at Neal when he heard the resigned sigh. "All right. Love you too."

"The Bureau shrink," Neal said with a slight groan.

"SOP after a situation like this," Peter said.

"But we're fine..." Neal said.

"The higher ups will want someone to sign off on that so that means we see a psychologist," Peter said.

Shortly after, Jones and the other agent came back with the two prisoners, both of whom stared at them as if they were Houdini reincarnated. Peter just looked back, a tiny smirk touching his mouth before the two were hustled out. "Come on, let's go home."

 

Almost as soon as he opened the door of the house in Brooklyn, Peter found himself in a hard embrace. "Hey, I'm fine, just like I told you," he said, wrapping his arms around Elizabeth. "Maybe a little ripe..."

Elizabeth stepped back, her nose wrinkled a little. "Just a bit," she said. "So go, shower and change and you know the beard has to go..." She gave him a soft kiss. "Don't take too long."

"I won't."

As promised, half an hour later, he was showered, shaved, changed and sitting on the couch, Elizabeth curled up next to him. "So, tell me how you did it," she said.

"Short version: I overloaded the camera, disappeared and we waited for them to check on us," Peter said.

"And what if they hadn't?"

"Then we wouldn't be here right now," Peter said. "But we were sure they'd check. One minute they could see us, the camera whites out and when it comes back online, the room looks empty. They almost had to check."

"Neal lifted the key, didn't he?" Elizabeth said more than asked.

"That wasn't part of the plan but I could see where he was going with it," Peter said. "And it made a convenient holding cell until Jones got there."

"So who were these guys anyway?"

"Hickman's brother and a cousin," Peter said. "They were part of that robbery gang we took down. We didn't get them at the warehouse since they weren't there. They were on the...retail side of the business."

"So why you and Neal?"

"Me, probably because I was lead agent - it was my team," Peter said. "And Neal...well, he's Neal Caffrey, his reputation is still out there and he's my partner." He pulled her close against him, dropping a kiss on her lips. "It's over. We got them all," he said softly. He lifted his hand and the room was bathed in rainbow light. He heard Elizabeth's breath catch as the colors went from red to violet and back. "I promised myself you'd see them again," he said. "And you know I always keep my promises."


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal have a very busy couple of weeks and Moz gets close to a truth he has no idea is out there.

Neal glanced over his shoulder as he and Peter ran across the parking lot, stumbling occasionally over the loose, cracked concrete. Behind them were three men, looking none too happy about the fact that not only had their counterfeiting operation been discovered, it had been discovered by Feds.

They'd been at that particular location on a completely unrelated case - looking for yet another ring of smugglers - a perk(?) of New York being a major Atlantic port with tens of thousands of ships docking and departing every year. What they'd stumbled on was definitely not a smuggling operation. Such was their surprise, Peter hadn't had time to react and the first shots had been fired almost before he and Neal had entered the building. "Counterfeiters," Neal had said as they turned tail and ran, three men on their heels. He and Peter had recognized the operation in just the brief seconds they'd had. What they didn't know was what was being printed on the presses chugging away in the almost empty space.

For the last ten minutes, they'd been racing through the parking lot, dodging the occasional shot fired by their pursuers. Beside him, Peter grunted, stumbling slightly. Neal thought nothing of it as they ran, casting about for any sort of cover. His eyes landed on a large silver tank and he cut to the right, pulling Peter with him. Another shot rang out and they ducked.

"Not a lot of cover but better than nothing, I guess," Peter said as they tried to catch their breath.

"You're hit," Neal said, just noticing the red that coated the sleeve of Peter's jacket.

"Graze," Peter said. "Nothing serious. I'll take care of it when we get out of this." He let his head fall back against the tank which resulted in a hollow ringing sound...and a slosh.

Neal turned around and began firmly tapping his way down the side of the container, listening intently, noting when the sound changed.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked.

"Seeing how full the tank is," Neal said.

"Why?"

"Think you can blow this?" Neal asked.

"It might not be flammable," Peter said but Neal could see he could tell what he was thinking.

"Pretty sure it is," Neal said, indicating the warning labels plastered on the tank.

"Hazardous..."

"Outside," Neal said. "How far away do we need to be?" He flinched as more shots went flying by.

Peter looked around, quickly gauging distance to the nearest cover. Again, not ideal - a couple of cars, abandoned by the look - but, if necessary, he could repeat the performance. All they really needed was enough distraction to get away and call for back up. He indicated the cars and pulled himself to his feet. With a glance at his partner, he gave a quick nod then took off running, hearing shouts from behind as they were spotted. Halfway to the cars, he let his hand grow warm and felt the tickle of flame curling around his fingers. He slowed and turned, coming to a stop. Beside him, Neal stopped as well, watching as his partner drew back and, with perfect form, let loose a ball of fire that arrowed straight at the tank. Seconds later, an orange ball of flame erupted and a wave of heat washed over them as they turned their backs, jackets pulled over their noses and mouths to avoid breathing in the toxic gas.

"And...steee-rike!" Neal said, his voice muffled but Peter could hear the amusement.

Once the worst of the heat subsided, they turned to look and found all three men on the ground, guns scattered around them. With the remains of the tank's contents still burning, they made sure to stay downwind as they made their way over, kicking the guns aside as they made sure everyone was still breathing.

"Concussion knocked them out," Peter said. "You call for EMTs, I'll call the office, let them know what we found."

"They'll want to check you out," Neal said, indicating Peter's arm as he pulled out his phone.

"They won't need to," Peter said. "I'll be fine."

"Can't hide the blood," Neal pointed out. "Besides, the bullet might still be in there."

Peter looked at his arm, seeing the hole in his jacket near his shoulder and reached around, his fingers finding a corresponding hole on the other side. "Nope," he said. "Through and through. As for the blood...After what happened to you when we took down Hickman's gang, I keep a change of clothes in the car."

"So go get the car while I call," Neal said.

By the time EMTs got to the scene, Peter had brought the car around and had changed his jacket. Neal looked closely but saw no blood seeping through the cloth. When the team arrived, both of them were sitting on the back of an ambulance, each with an oxygen mask on their face - just in case they'd gotten more of the gas in their lungs than they thought.

"What the hell happened?" Jones asked, leaning against the bus. "I thought it was smugglers."

"So did we," Peter said, removing the mask. "It was counterfeiting. Surprised us too."

"So what happened to these guys?"

"Someone got stupid or unlucky and a round hit the tank. Up it went," Peter said. "They were knocked out by the concussion. So who's at the warehouse?"

"Blake, Kelsey, Callahan and Duggar," Jones said. "Along with NYPD."

Peter nodded, setting the mask aside. He glanced over at Neal, who'd done the same. "Okay, let's see what - or who - they were trying to rip off," he said as they stood.

When they reentered the building where the whole situation started, they found another half dozen people, hands zip-tied behind their backs, being led out and junior agents cataloging the contents. Neal pulled a nearly complete example from the stack and began to chuckle, causing Peter to lift a brow in inquiry. In response, Neal turned the page so he could see. At the top, surrounded by complex and intricate filigree, were the words "Atlantic Corporation.".

"Gless isn't going to be happy," Peter remarked.

"At least it's not me this time," Neal said, replacing the sheet. "But I think he'll be glad none have been cashed. With as many as they were running, it would have come close to bankrupting the company."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Peter said, eyeing the stacks of incomplete bonds. There were at least three reams, face value of a thousand dollars and a date that indicated a healthy amount of interest in addition.

"This isn't all," Neal said. "There's another four reams over there." He waved a hand over to a desk back against one wall. "Three point five million face value plus interest. It would have put a major dent in the company's capital."

It took another two hours to wrap things up - four printing presses, quarts of ink, gallons of fountain solution, reams of paper and the four plates were loaded onto trucks for transport to evidence lock up. And they still had to find the smuggler's base of operations. But it was getting late and Peter made the decision to call it a day - and he still had to change out of his shirt, now stiff with dried blood - hopefully before Elizabeth saw it and demanded he tell her what happened.

"I thought you were done for today," Neal said. leaning a hip against Peter's desk.

"I just want to get the details down while they're still fresh," Peter said as he jotted them down.

"So, stray bullet hit the tank and...boom?" Neal asked, remembering what Peter had told Jones at the scene.

"I can't exactly say I threw a fireball and it went up, now can I?"

Neal grinned. "No, guess not," he said. "Nice pitch, by the way."

Peter returned the grin. "Thanks. Still got it, I guess," he said, putting his notes in a file folder. "Come on, let's get out of here. I need to get out of this shirt."

"And what will you tell Elizabeth?" Neal asked as they made their way to the elevator.

"If she asks, I'll tell her what happened," Peter said.

"About you getting shot?"

"I won't have to unless she sees my shirt," Peter said. "Which is why I want to get out of here and get home before she has the chance."

 

He was reminded of how sharp Elizabeth was when they got to the house in Brooklyn. She took one look at him and asked, "How bad was it?" At her husband's look of surprise, she tugged on his collar. Staining the very tip was a splotch of blood.

Peter sighed. "It was a through and through," he said. "Not that serious. I took care of it." Heedless of Neal standing right there, he removed first his jacket then his shirts to show her his shoulder, unblemished by anything but dried blood. "A jacket and a shirt are the only casualties," he said.

"You, go clean up," Elizabeth said, giving Peter a push toward the stairs. "Neal, if you'd give me a hand in the kitchen..." Peter stifled a sigh and went to do as he was told. In the kitchen, Elizabeth fixed Neal with a look. "How bad was it, really?" she asked a bit sternly. "And no downplaying it either."

"Like he said, a through and through," Neal said. "And you saw him. He's fine." What he didn't tell her was this wasn't the first time Peter had "fixed himself" when a bullet or the blade of a knife had come just a little too close. Elizabeth knew of that particular ability since that evening out on the patio when Peter had sliced his palm and had essentially erased the cut. She also knew he'd done the same for Neal when he'd been grazed in the leg when they'd taken down Hickman's robbery ring. She knew about all of Peter's abilities in fact but Neal felt no need to tell her how many times he'd used them while on the job.

Elizabeth blew out a breath, accepting Neal's answer and the evidence of her own eyes. If it hadan't been for the blood caking on his dress shirt, she'd never have known he'd been injured. "So, how'd he get shot?" she asked as she handed him plates and cutlery to set the table.

"We stumbled onto some counterfeiters," Neal said. "They weren't happy about it."

"I thought your current case was smugglers."

"It is," Neal said from the dining room. "Like I said, we found them by accident, really. They started shooting and we ran."

"Peter couldn't stop them?"

"Everything happened so fast, he really didn't have time," Neal said, returning for the wine glasses. "Peter got hit and we found cover behind a tank of something or other, then...well, he blew the tank, knocked them out cold with the concussion. We called EMTs and the team and closed them down."

"And Peter fixed himself up before they got there," Elizabeth said.

"Changed his jacket to avoid questions," Neal said. "No one noticed..." He wiggled a finger at his collar. "If they had, they'd have insisted on checking him over and they'd have wondered why his shirt and jacket were the only things with a bullet hole."

Elizabeth nodded, sliding a casserole out of the oven. "Tha's one thing I'm glad he picked up," she said. "He can redirect and misdirect almost as well as you do."

"Well, it's a handy skill to have in certain situations," Neal said. He leaned against the counter, regarding her for a moment. "Does it ever bother you? Not being able to talk to anyone about this?"

"It doesn't bother me exactly," Elizabeth said, transferring the dish to the table. She paused to call up to Peter, telling him dinner was ready. "But I admit to wishing I could brag about it. Especially to these high society women who constantly go on about how great their husbands are. Just once I'd like to say 'Well that's all well and good but _my_ husband can stop bullets in their tracks or make himself invisible'."

"And they'd call the men in the white coats to haul you off, fashionably dressed in a wrap around jacket with a reservation at the Rubber Wall Hotel," Neal said, amused.

Elizabeth grinned. "Yeah," she said. "But it's also nice, having that kind of secret, you know?"

"Yeah," Neal said. "There's a sense of, I don't know, power I guess, knowing something no one else does."

"Something smells good," Peter said, coming downstairs, casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Well, eat up," Elizabeth said. "Neal told me you had a busy day."

"That and unexpected," Peter said as they took seats. "We closed a case we didn't actually have. Did he tell you what they'd been counterfeiting?"

"No. What?"

Peter glanced at Neal, his mouth twitching. "Atlantic bonds," he said.

"Now why does that sound familiar?"

"It's what I'd forged when Peter first got my case," Neal said.

"When you gave him that sucker outside the bank," Elizabeth said, smiling.

"That was a stupid move on my part but what's done is done and I can't say I regret it," Neal said. He helped himself to a generous serving of the casserole then asked, "Are you going to tell Mr. Gless that someone was counterfeiting his bonds?"

Peter thought for a few minutes. "Yeah, we probably should," he said. "We don't know if that was the first run or not. Put out an alert to the banks to hold off cashing them until they can be authenticated." He regarded his partner a moment. "Think you could? You _were_ the first to counterfeit them."

"I'll need a sample from the warehouse," Neal said. "And a genuine one for comparison."

"All right, I'll contact Mr. Gless in the morning, let him know the situation, request one of his bonds for comparison then have one of the counterfeits brought up from evidence. I want you to write up the alert, tell the banks what to look for."

Neal nodded then said to Elizabeth, "I also didn't tell you that your husband's pitching arm is in fine form."

"And how will you explain the tank exploding?" Elizabeth asked.

"Stray bullet," Peter said.

 

The next morning in the office, Peter was on the phone to Gless appraising him of the situation that he admitted they'd stumbled on. "We'll need one of your bonds for comparison," he said. "So Neal can alert the banks on what to look for."

"Neal Caffrey?"

Peter heard the note of suspicion in Gless's tone. "Yes, Neal Caffrey," he said. He paused a moment. "I'm well aware of the history between the two of you, Mr. Gless but I'll ask anyway: do you think you can trust him? But before you answer, I'd like to remind you that Neal stayed with the Bureau by his own choice after he completed his sentence and he's done good work for us."

Gless sighed. "He took thousands, tens of thousands of dollars from my company by doing something I was assured was impossible," he said. "But, on the other hand, he _did_ save my daughter at great personal risk." There was a slight pause. "If you trust him then I can't do any less. I'll have the bond delivered in the next few hours."

After the obligatory pleasantries, Peter hung up. letting out a breath, only then realizing he'd been worried that Gless wouldn't allow Neal - even under the eyes of the Bureau - access to the bonds he'd forged all those years ago. But, in his mind, Neal was the most qualified _because_ he had. Not to mention the fact that Neal had the best eye for detail of anyone he knew.

 

The bond arrived much sooner than expected and Peter corralled Neal, handing him the genuine article and the counterfeit from evidence. Neal spent the rest of the day at his desk, poring over the bond and the counterfeit in turn, looking for any difference regardless of how small, an array of magnifiers of varying power - even a jeweler's loupe - scattered on his desk.

"How's it going?" Peter asked near the end of the day.

Neal sat back, rubbing his eyes. "These guys are good," he said. "I'll admit I'm impressed."

"But?"

"Well, visually, they're identical," Neal said. "Well, almost identical." He pulled the two next to each other then began pointing out the minute differences, easily overlooked even under scrutiny.

"You've written them down?"

Neal gestured at his notes - half a page filled with his neat copperplate script. "I can still examine them under different polarizations. More differences may show up that way," he said. "If so, it could make it easier for the banks to authenticate."

"Tomorrow," Peter said. "You look beat."

Neal gave a tired nod. "It's been a while since I've done such detailed work," he said. His mouth quirked a little. "And I'd forgotten how intricate Atlantic bonds are."

"Get your stuff. You can come to dinner again tonight," Peter said.

"I'd love to but Moz is getting a bit antsy," Neal said.

"About?"

"He's afraid I've completely succumbed to Stockholm Syndrome," Neal said.

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled. "As long as your heists are purely hypothetical," he said. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."

 

Neal found Moz waiting for him, sitting at the table, glass of wine in hand, when he entered the loft. Shrugging out of his jacket, he got a glass for himself. "What's up, Moz?'

"I need to talk to you...about the Suit."

"He didn't pressure me into staying with the bureau," Neal said. "I'm sure he fully expected me to skip town without a backward glance when my time was up."

"No, keep working with the Fed if you want," Moz said a bit dismissively. "He's shown a remarkable talent for keeping you out of prison. No, about him personally."

"What do you mean?"

"I've heard stories, rumors that he can...do things," Moz said.

"Peter can do a lot of things," Neal said. "Stomach devilled ham and downmarket beer for starters." Seeing Moz roll his eyes, he asked, "What stories? What rumors?"

"I've heard form acquaintances of Keller, Hickman and Richardson among others that the Suit can do... magic."

Neal choked slightly on his wine, his eyes wide in what he hoped looked like incredulity. "Magic? Come on, Moz, even you can't believe in magic," he said.

"Okay, maybe not magic per se but I heard he has...unusual abilities," Moz said.

"Like what?"

"Well, Keller said the Suit froze him," Moz said. "Couldn't move a muscle. And he held fire in his hands without getting burned, fire that came from nowhere."

Neal gave a huff of disbelief. "And you believe him?" he asked. "He's probably just mad that Peter caught him. Twice. You know his ego. He couldn't admit that Peter was smarter." He sipped his wine, regarding his friend. "But, just for the sake fo arguement, say Keller was telling the truth. Would you be any _more_ paranoid of him?"

"I'm not paranoid of him!" Moz growled. "Not any more...not as much." He glowered a little. "He's a Fed. A certain amount of paranoia and distrust is called for."

"Moz, Peter's the same guy I've been working with since the Dutchman case," Neal said. "The one who got me out of prison, kept me off the plane when Kate was killed...the one who told me to run when Kramer wanted to keep me on the leash in D.C. so his closure rate would go up."

"The one who hauled you back and shackled you again."

"That was my choice," Neal said. "I know you didn't agree with it but it was better than being on the run, constantly looking over my shoulder." He sighed, turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Moz, I know your beliefs are...unorthodox, even unusual but magic? That's far fetched even by your standards. But you didn't answer my question - what if Peter _could_ do what Keller said he could do?"

"I'd say he'd be a force to be reckoned with," Moz said.

"Can I tell him that?" Neal asked, his mouth twitching with amusement.

"No, you may not," Moz said glowering again. "Because you're right. Magic isn't real."

"And Peter would be the first to agree with you," Neal said.

Moz huffed derisively but looked mollified. "Oh, before I forget..."

"You don't forget anything."

"Figure of speech," Moz said. "You wanted word on that smuggling ring you're tracking. Word has it that they'll be moving a shipment in the next few days."

"Any idea where from?" Neal asked.

"I've got better intel," Moz said. "I know where they're holding their inventory."

"You've done recon?"

"I may have taken a quick look," Moz said. "And I think it might be bigger than indications would have it."

"Bigger? How?"

"Bigger as in the head of the ring can make sure the items can clear Customs," Moz said.

"It's an ICE agent?"

"Possibly," Moz said. "A Customs official, at least."

"You wouldn't have a name, would you?"

"Unfortunately, no," Moz said. "But I'll ask around, see what I can dig up." He refilled his glass and changed the subject. "Have you heard about the new exhibit at the Powell?"

Neal quirked a brow at his friend. "Planning something Moz?" he asked. "Because Peter has asked me to keep our heists purely hypothetical."

"The Suit is such a buzzkill," Moz said. "But no, I'm not planning anything except a nice afternoon at the Powell, taking in their new exhibit."

"I wish I could join you but I have work to do," Neal said. "We stumbled on a counterfeiting ring the other day and I have to find how the forgeries differ from the real thing. It's slow going."

"What's the product?"

"Atlantic bonds," Neal said. "And yes, I'm well aware of the irony. But I'll tell you, whoever did it is _good_. We seized over three point five million dollars worth but we're not sure if it's the first run or not so..."

"The banks need to know what to look for," Moz said. "Have you looked under polarization?"

"Not yet," Neal said. "I'm planning to do that tomorrow."

 

First thing the next morning, Neal passed on the information that Moz had given him, along with his suspicion that a government employee might be behind the smuggling ring then collected the bond and counterfeit and headed downstairs to the labs to continue his examination. Meanwhile, Peter put Kelsey and Callahan on checking the list of customs inspectors for the port of New York. There were hundreds so they co-opted half a dozen probies to assist. Armed with information about when the stolen items had left the country, they narrowed the list down considerably by the end of the day. Jones and Blake, he sent to the address they'd gotten to see what was there.

 

Neal smiled, the expression going unnoticed in the dark room lit only by a red light. There, in the middle of the genuine bond, blazing like neon, were the letters A C - letters that were conspicuously absent on the counterfeit. "Good but not good enough," he murmured to himself.

"What was that, Mr. Caffrey?" the tech with him asked.

"Nothing," Neal said. "you can turn on the lights now." He blinked as bright light flooded the room and gave the bonds another look. Still visible were the letters, though faint. "Thank you, I have what I need," he said, shutting off the red light and gathering the bonds. He grabbed a handheld on his way out. "Mind if I borrow this?"

The tech waved his assent. "Just have it back by the end of the day."

"Well, that alert just got a lot shorter," Neal said when he was back in Peter's office on the twenty first floor. He laid the two bonds on the desk, side by side. "This is the genuine," he said, indicating the one on the right. He turned on the handheld and passed it over the bonds. "See? Right there. Almost dead center."

"Nice," Peter said. "I guess you inadvertently did Gless a favor all those years ago."

"Possibly," Neal said. "but these guys weren't as good as we first thought. All the banks need is a red light to check any bonds they get. No initials, they're fake.." He set the light aside. "The smuggling case?"

"Checking customs officials to see who was on duty when there was a shipment and Jones and Blake went to check that address," Peter said. 'Tell Moz thanks for the intel."

 

It took almost another week to pin down the ringleader - a low level customs official - and empty the storage facility where the illegal and stolen items were being kept. Neal was put to work authenticating not only paintings but manuscripts, jewelry and sculptures before ERT bagged and tagged them for transport. Then they spent three days tying up both cases.

 

Back home in Brooklyn, Peter handed Neal a glass of wine and settled on the couch with a beer. "Busy couple of weeks but two major cases closed," he said, raising his bottle in salute.

"After this, I'm almost wishing for embezzlement or money laundering," Neal said.

"I'll remember you said that," Peter said with an impish smile as he took a sip of his beer.

"I did say 'almost'," Neal said. He took a sip of his wine. "Oh, I think you should know that, according to Moz, people are talking about what you can do."

Peter stilled. "Really?"

"Yeah, Moz told me when he gave me that intel on the smugglers," Neal said. He saw Peter's vaguely worried look and waved it off. "I managed to convince him they were just stories," he said.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that believing in magic - real magic - is a bit far fetched even for him," Neal said, his mouth quirked in a smile. "Your secret's safe."

"I know it is with you," Peter said.

Neal felt a warmth spread through him at Peter's words, hearing the complete trust in them - something he'd rarely heard while on the anklet but was hearing more and more as their partnership continued. "Always." He took another sip of wine then said, "You might want to consider telling him anyway. I'm not sure how many times I can get away with telling him a knife or bullet just missed me. Even he knows I'm not _that_ lucky."

"I'll take it under consideration," Peter said. "but if I do, I'll insist on no experiments."

"If he tries, you could always freeze him," Neal said impishly.

Peter chuckled. "I might anyway, just to see his face," he said. 

He shelved the suggestion for the time being. For now, having Elizabeth and Neal know was enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moz learns Peter's secret and Peter crosses a line he never meant to.

"Ouch!"

"Hon?"

"Damn knife slipped," Elizabeth said, reaching for a napkin to blot up the blood that welled from the cut on her hand.

"Here," Peter said, taking her hand. He rubbed a thumb over the wound, leaving smooth skin behind. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thank you, hon," Elizabeth said, giving him a quick kiss.

"Interesting trick," Moz said from the door.

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged a look - Elizabeth shrugged and Peter sighed but didn't look particularly upset. "Not a trick," he said. "Have a seat. Neal, if you could refill his glass...I think he might need it."

"What's this about?" Moz asked once everyone but Elizabeth took a seat at the table.

"You know those stories you heard?" Neal asked, pouring Moz more wine. "Not stories."

"The fire from nowhere? The freezing?"

"All true," Peter said. He held out a hand and soon a small flame appeared, growing to fill his cupped palm, all the while watching Moz's face. He let it burn a few moments before extinguishing it. Keeping his eyes on Moz, he called, "Hon, toss me something."

"Here you go," Elizabeth said.

Peter looked as a tomato came toward him and lifted his hand, the tomato stopping in mid air. He reached out and plucked it from its place and set it on the table.

Moz looked a little uncertainly at Neal who looked back, unperturbed. "How long have you known?"

"Since that smuggling ring we took down about a year ago," Neal said. "That's when I found out about the invisibility."

"Invisibility..."

Peter leaned back and brought his hand down sharply in front of Neal. Just then, Elizabeth came out of the kitchen. "Where's Neal?" she asked, frowning a little.

"Right here," Neal said from the apparently empty chair.

"Hon, if you would, I could use Neal's palate for a second," Elizabeth said.

Neal appeared in the chair, gave Moz a little shrug and joined Elizabeth in the kitchen. Moz sat back in his chair, sipping his wine as he studied Peter, who looked back calmly. "Is that it or is there more?" he asked finally.

In response, Peter once more lifted his hand but instead of fire, the room filled with rainbow lights, changing to a soft white. "It's how I overloaded Richardson's goggles and the camera when we were being held in Glen Cove," he said. "I can also see perfectly well in the dark."

"Don't forget the mirror thing," Neal said from the kitchen.

"Don't have one handy," Peter said.

There was the sound of rummaging around in the kitchen then the tap came on briefly. "Any reflective surface, right?" Neal asked, setting a small roast pan half filled with water in front of him.

"This'll do," Peter said and motioned Moz over. Once the other man stood beside him, he said, "Watch." The water clouded briefly and when it cleared, there was an image of June, sitting in her library, a cup of tea on the sidetable as she paged through an old photo album. "This is how I found Neal when Buchanan took him," Peter said.

"A pan of water?"

"I usually use a mirror," Peter said. "It's best but something like this will do in a pinch." He got up, taking the pan back into the kitchen, aware of Moz's gaze on him.

"Are you even human?" Moz asked suspiciously.

"That's the exact question Neal asked when he found out," Peter said, sitting back down. "The answer is yes, I'm as human as anyone else. I have no idea where these abilities came from or why I have them but I use them when I need to."

"You don't spy on me?"

"I don't spy on anyone," Peter said. "As long as you're not breaking the law, I don't care what you do."

"How long?"

"Since I was a kid," Peter said. He clasped his hands and rested his chin on them. "I don't mind that you know, Moz," he said. "And all I ask is that you not tell anyone. Everyone who knows is in this house. I'd like to keep it that way."

"So why'd you tell me?"

"You'd have figured it out, given time," Peter said. "You're one of the smartest people I know despite your love of conspiracy theories. Sooner or later, you'd have started questioning Neal's luck at avoiding injury when his clothes had holes or cuts in them. Only so many times that would work."

"I _was_ beginning to wonder," Moz said.

"There's only so much I can do when it comes to injuries," Peter said. "If someone is seriously injured, I may be able to keep it from being life threatening but they'd still need medical attention. But being grazed by a bullet, cuts like Elizabeth's, bruises, those I can fix."

"You said you can see in the dark?"

"Near pitch black," Peter said. "When Richardson went after Neal, he needed nightvision goggles. I didn't."

"Came in handy when we had a bad breaker," Elizabeth said, bringing a large bowl of pasta to the table. "No hunting in the dark for a flashlight or candles." She regarded Moz for a moment, then asked, "Did he make a mistake, trusting you with this?"

"I'm not exactly the most trustworthy person..." Moz said then sighed. "But no, you didn't make a mistake, Suit," he said. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Well, you _like_ secrets, Moz," Neal said. "And this is bigger than any you have."

"You don't know all my secrets, mon frere," Moz said. "But I take your point."

"All right, now that that's settled," Elizabeth said, taking her seat.

As they ate, Peter could see Moz looking at him speculatively on occasion and once or twice open his mouth before apparently changing his mind. After once such occurance, he said, "If you have a question, just ask. I'll do my best to answer."

"I'm almost afraid to ask if you can do anything else," Moz said.

"The fire, the slowing time, the scrying, seeing in the dark, the lights, the invisibility and fixing minor injuries...no, that's it," Peter said. "But I can only use one at a time and I have to think about it except for the darkvision - that's automatic."

"What's this...darkvision like?" Moz asked, his suspicion and reticence forgotten as his curiosity won out.

"It's like seeing in full light except in black and white," Peter said.

"Like full colorblindness," Moz said.

"Yeah, like that."

"Just on the visible spectrum?"

"I can't see X-rays or anything if that's what you're asking," Peter said. "If you can't see it with your eyes, neither can I. I also don't use any of it lightly...well, not anymore." This last was said with a wry smile.

"And the fire doesn't burn you? Does _any_ fire?"

" _My_ fire doesn't burn me," Peter said. "Any other fire would."

"He's the one who blew that tank when the counterfeiters were after us," Neal said.

"You can throw it?" Moz asked a little wide eyed.

"Well, I'm not going to in _here_ ," Peter said.

Moz then asked a question neither Elizabeth nor Neal had thought to ask. "When you do these things, does it affect you in any way?"

Peter frowned thoughtfully. "The lights and the fire don't affect me. I'm immune to them," he said.

"Not really what I was asking," Moz said. "Does it drain you?"

"It depends, I guess," Peter said. "If I keep it up for an extended period, it might but I try not to. I'm also not sure what the effect would be on the person I used it on. I've never kept anyone in stasis - frozen - for more than twenty minutes. I've told you I've overloaded cameras and nightvision goggles but I imagine I could blind someone."

"You've also knocked people out with that one," Neal reminded him. "Keller's goons when he took Elizabeth."

"There's that," Peter said. "But overall, it doesn't affect me. I don't feel the need to...recharge, I guess."

Neal's mouth quirked, seeing Moz's expression. "i know that look," he said. "You want to run experiments."

"I'll admit I'm curious," Moz said.

"No," Peter said firmly. "I refuse to be a lab rat. Like I told Neal, I don't know how, only that I can."

 

Moz went to Thursday after he left the Burke's, partly because the view was fantastic - not that he would be enjoying the view - it was also where he kept a rather extensive collection of books and manuscripts. He was hoping he could find any information on what Peter Burke actually was. While he was almost certain the agent was human like he'd said, Moz believed he was...more...and he was going to find out what that more was. But even after going through everything he had that even came close, he was no closer to an answer. The only thing that described what Peter could do was the player's handbook of a role playing game. But even that wasn't an exact match. In the game, spells were used and Peter didn't seem to use them at all...at least as far as Moz could tell. Reluctantly, he came to the conclusion that he might never be able to explain Peter or what he could do and fell back on the obvious definition...it was magic. _Real_ magic.

Over the following weeks, Moz continued to observe Peter, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. Even when he knew Peter was using or had used magic, it wasn't noticable unless he was really looking for it. And he realized that Peter was a past master at misdirection and redirection, always having a logical explanation or plausible story to explain the results of his use of magic. He also came to learn that Peter's self control came from necessity and he never thought, never imagined he'd be present when Peter lost it. Or that he'd witness the result when he did.

 

The three of them were at a nearly abandoned storage facility on the outskirts of the city - Moz as a broker between their suspect and Peter and Neal, undercover as potential buyers. The suspect went along with the negotiations at first but began acting antsy and suspicious - especially of Neal. Still, none of them expected him to pull out a gun and shoot, almost point blank, hitting Neal square in the chest.

"You son of a bitch!" Peter yelled to the retreating back of the suspect, barely registering the flames engulfing his hand before he let loose - the fireball impacting with such force the other man was knocked to the ground. Peter didn't notice, being on his knees beside Neal, his jacket off, balled up and pressed over the wound. "Call the EMTs, Moz."

"Peter...?"

"You'll be fine, Neal," Peter said. "Stay with me, okay?"

"Moz..."

"Right here, mon frere," Moz said, grasping Neal's hand tightly with one of his as he used the other to call the medics.

Neal cried out in pain as Peter pressed more firmly, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Peter, for his part, was getting more desperate as the blood continued to pump out of his friend, seeing his face pale , his breathing becoming more and more erratic. "Neal...please..." In a last ditch effort, he gestured...and Neal stopped.

"Suit...what did you do?"

Peter looked up into Moz's wide eyes. "Froze him," he said unsteadily. "Had to stop the bleeding..." The slight breeze that was blowing shifted and his stomached heaved as the smell of burning flesh and hair wafted over them and he slapped a bloody hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting. "Oh God..."

Moz, with rare understanding, said gently, "You had to, Peter."

Peter shook his head. "I could have frozen him. I've...I've never..." He looked at Moz, bewildered. "That's not me..." he whispered. "I can't explain..."

"You let me take care of it," Moz said. "When the medics get here, you go with Neal and let me worry about the clean up."

Peter was never so happy to hear sirens in his life and, though he was loathe to, he released Neal from stasis, pressing once more on the wound until the medics took over. They also noticed the smell but ignored it as they stabilized Neal and loaded him into the ambulance, Peter climbing in behind him.

The next few hours passed in a haze as Neal was rushed to surgery. Peter wasn't sure how long it was before Moz, then Elizabeth joined him. As they waited for news, others from the team joined them briefly and June stopped by, staying a bit longer. At one point, Peter saw Elizabeth talking to Moz but couldn't hear what was said, he only saw the concerned looks they cast in his direction.

"Come on," Elizabeth said, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go get some air."

"But Neal..."

"Moz will let us know," Elizabeth said. "Now, come on." She led him outside and sat him on a low wall near the entrance. "Talk to me," she said.

Peter sighed. "I lost it, El," he said, studying his hands. "I saw Neal go down...and I lost it."

"What happened?"

In response, flames curled around his fingers until he balled them into a fist. "That's not me, El, you know that," he said, looking at her as if begging for her understanding.

"I know, hon," Elizabeth said. "But you were angry, scared..." She laid a comforting hand on his face. "You're a good man, Peter Burke and good men sometimes do terrible things." She tilted his chin up so he looked at her. "And part of what makes them good men is they don't just brush off what they did that was so terrible. Do you think Keller would have given a damn? Or the man who shot Neal?"

"But how am I supposed to live with what I did to him?" Peter asked, sounding lost.

"The same way you did after Adler," Elizabeth said. "You did what you had to do."

"I was protecting Neal then."

"And you were this time," Elizabeth said. "You were also protecting Moz." She pulled him close, feeling him tremble. "I know you didn't do this lightly and I can see how much it scares you. That's another part of what makes you a good man. Someone almost killed Neal and it upsets you to know you killed the man who did it. Never once have you just shrugged off the violence that sometimes comes with the job." She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "You'll get through this," she said. "I promise."

"Suit...El, Neal's out of surgery," Moz said from the entrance. "Doctors say he'll pull through. They're moving him to a room now."

"Thank you, Moz," Elizabeth said. "we'll be in in a few minutes."

Before Moz went back inside, he regarded Peter for a few moments, seeing the haunted look in his eyes that he suspected would be there for a while. "For what it's worth, I'd have done the same thing if I could have," he said.

 

Peter woke with a start when he heard a soft moan coming from the bed. He leaned forward as Neal opened his eyes and frowned slightly until he registered where he was. "What happened?" he whispered, his voice rough.

"Corman shot you," Peter said quietly. "You had us worried for a while, you know?"

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Peter said. "Not your fault."

"You got him?" Neal asked, closing his eyes but opened them again when Peter didn't answer. "Peter?"

"Yeah, we got him," Peter whispered without meeting his gaze. When Neal started to sit up, concern etching his face, Peter laid a hand on his chest, gently holding him down. "I'm fine, Neal," he said, finding a smile from somewhere. "You rest."

"What aren't you telling me?" Even in pain, still groggy from anesthesia, Neal could see that his partner was not okay. "If you won't tell me, I'll ask Elizabeth."

Knowing he'd act on the threat, Peter sighed. "Corman won't be serving any time," he said. "Can't imprison a burned out husk."

"A burned out..." Neal started. "Peter..."

"I lost it, Neal," Peter said softly. "That bastard shot you, almost killed you and I lost it. One second he'd pulled the trigger, next he was on the ground..." He stopped, the vision of Corman burning, the smell almost making him heave. He scrubbed his face, taking a shaky breath. "I didn't even realize what I'd done until after," he said. "I was too busy trying to stop the bleeding and when I couldn't...I froze you."

"You probably saved my life doing that," Neal said.

"Maybe," Peter said. "I couldn't think of what else to do. I was desperate. I didn't even know if it would work."

Neal reached over and grasped Peter's hand. "Hey, I'll be okay," he said. "You did what you thought you had to."

"But I _didn't_ have to," Peter said. "Not to Corman. Even Keller doesn't deserve that."

Using the bed's controls, Neal sat up. "So you weren't thinking straight," he said. "Surprise, Peter Burke is human. Do you think I was thinking straight when I tried to run into a burning plane, half convinced Kate was still alive?" He let out a breath. "Peter, you're not a monster despite what you think. You didn't enjoy it and anyone could see it really bothers you. The fact that it does proves you're a good man."

Despite himself, Peter smiled a little. "That's the same argument El used," he said.

"Your wife is a smart woman," Neal said. "You should listen to her. And to me." He gave Peter's hand a squeeze. "And Corman?"

"You'll have to ask Moz," Peter said. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"Not sure I want to either," Neal said.

"Rest," Peter said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"You get some rest yourself," Neal said.

"I will."

"Uh-huh," Neal said, clearly not believing him.

"I will," Peter repeated. "Now sleep."

 

When Neal woke next, Peter was gone and Elizabeth was in his place. "You made him go home?" he asked.

"Practically kicking and screaming but yeah," Elizabeth said. "And to make sure he got some sleep, I enlisted Moz's help."

"Who's with him?"

"Right now, June is, with strict instructions not to let him within a mile of here." She regarded him a minute. "He told you?"

"Yeah, he did," Neal said. "And it'll eat at him."

"I know it will so we'll just have to help him through it. I mean, it's not like he can talk to a Bureau shrink about it," Elizabeth said.

"Did he tell you he froze me to stop the bleeding?" Neal asked.

"No, he didn't," Elizabeth said. "He just told me what happened after you were shot, what he did to the suspect."

"I knew he was getting antsy, I saw it but I never thought he'd get violent," Neal said. "I tried to diffuse the situation but..." He sighed. "And now, here I am, in the hospital and Peter..."

Elizabeth gave him a soft, amused smile. "Typical," she said. "He's more worried about you and you're more worried about him."

"He's my partner, of course I'm worried about him," Neal said. "I can't even imagine what he's going through. Despite the job, despite the fact that he carries a gun, I know Peter's not a violent person and it really gets to him when he has to be."

"But he doesn't enjoy it," Elizabeth said.

"He thinks he's a monster, Elizabeth," Neal said. "I could see it."

"He needs time to process," Elizabeth said. "And we'll help him through it - all of us."

 

Peter woke with a start, bolting upright and barely stifling the scream that begged to be let loose. He scrubbed his face, glancing at the bedside clock. Just after two in the morning. Gradually, he became aware of Elizabeth's hand running comfortingly up his arm as she sat beside him.

"Again?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Peter apologized. "I just..."

"It's okay, hon," Elizabeth said. "It'll take awhile to process."

"I just keep _seeing_ him...burning," Peter said. "And the smell..."

Elizabeth turned his face so he looked at her. "You need to remember one thing, even if it's the _only_ thing," she said. "You saved Neal's life. He told me while he was in the hospital that you froze him to stop the bleeding. Your magic saved him." She placed an almost chaste kiss on his mouth. "You're not a monster, Peter. You just don't have it in you. Okay?"

"But..."

"But nothing," Elizabeth said. "You didn't plan to do it; it just happened. You acted to protect your partner, your friend and you did."

Peter took her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. "If I could just stop seeing it..." he said.

"It'll fade," Elizabeth said. "But you have to let yourself get past it, stop thinking of yourself as a monster. You're not and never could be."

"I don't even know what happened to him...after."

"Moz took care of it," Elizabeth said. "And he did some digging these last few weeks." Seeing Peter's interest was piqued, she continued. "Seems Corman wasn't just dealing in stolen artifacts. He was dealing in arms...and children."

"Trafficker?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yeah," she said softly. "One of the storage units where you met him had almost a dozen children inside, drugged almost comatose and...and branded." She squeezed his hands. "When Moz found out...well, you know how he is about children." Her mouth quirked in a fond smile. "He insisted on being there when they were assessed and when they woke up. I think he's their hero."

Even as rattled as he still was, Peter could still put the pieces together. He'd never be sure - Moz would deny it to his dying breath but... "He made it look like a mob hit," he said.

"I didn't ask," Elizabeth said. "You know he likes to keep things close."

Peter knew very well how close Moz liked to keep things. And he also knew he didn't have to worry if the old con would keep his secret - not after he'd gone to such lengths to obscure his involvement in Corman's death. "Remind me to thank him," he said. "A bottle of wine, perhaps."

"As long as it doesn't have a screw top," Elizabeth said, amused, relieved to see Peter's answering smile.

 

Moz let himself into Neal's loft, immediately seeing the bottle of wine sitting on the table and wondering why Neal had left it there, especially unopened. As he lifted the bottle to inspect the label, he noticed the small card next to it. Curious, he read it, his brows climbing upward. In Peter's handwriting, it read simply: _For services rendered. Enjoy._ Locating a glass, Moz poured a generous amount, sipping the Syrah appreciatively, savoring the taste. Holding the glass up, he said to the empty room, "You have excellent taste, Suit" then settled on the couch to enjoy the rest of the glass. "Althought I'm sure Mrs. Suit had _some_ input."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal have taken down a black marketeer...and Peter loses something in the aftermath.

"Try it again," Neal said.

"I can't!" Peter said, his frustration showing clearly - of course, he wasn't trying to hide it. He dropped to the couch, hands in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. "I've tried and I can't."

Neal sighed, worried about his partner, had been since Corman. They all were - all meaning Moz, Elizabeth and himself, everyone who knew Peter's secret. Ever since that day at the storage facility where Neal had been shot and Peter had crossed a line and taken a life with his magic. Peter, being Peter, didn't care that Corman had not only dealt in antiquities and arms but in children's lives. In one of the units, they'd found almost a dozen children, drugged and branded, probably for sale. "It's Corman."

Peter sighed. "Yeah...Corman," he said. "I'm supposed to arrest the bad guys, put them in prison, not turn them into charcoal."

"Peter, Corman was slime," Neal said. "What do you think would have happened to him on the inside?"

"They wouldn't have burned him alive," Peter said.

"You sure about that?" Neal asked. "It's my understanding that murderers can get quite creative."

"I'm not a murderer...at least I wasn't," Peter said.

"You're not a murderer," Neal said, glowering a little. "What you are is beating yourself up for reacting instead of thinking. You were protecting Moz."

"I got him in the back."

"He could have circled around."

"Jesus Christ, Neal, I burned someone alive! How am I supposed to get past that?"

"How do you know he was still alive?" Neal asked. "Did you freeze him first?"

"No, but..."

"It's my understanding that he went down hard," Neal said. "And Moz didn't say he heard anything and you know he'd remember. It's entirely possible he was dead before he started burning."

Almost reluctantly, Peter admitted to himself that it was plausible. He'd been too focused on Neal to pay attention to Corman once he went down. It was Moz - and a shift in the breeze - that brought his attention back to the black marketeer. Thinking back, he hadn't heard anything either - even unconscious, Corman would have made a sound - yelled, screamed, something.

"All right, never mind the fire for right now," Neal said. "You've still got everything else, right?"

"Yeah," Peter said. He picked up the small mirror he'd used to test his scrying ability and tossed it in the air, freezing it at the highest point in the arc. He grabbed it and set it on the table then opened his hand, filling the room with a soft, muted white light that slowly cycled through the colors. "Darkvision is automatic so I doubt I could lose that even if I wanted to," he said.

"Invisibility?"

Peter brought his hand down in front of the handset on the side table, making it disappear. "Invisibility, check," he said. "Healing..."

Neal pulled out a pocket knife and cut his hand. Peter swallowed, seeing the blood, a brief vision of his partner lying on the ground as he bled out from a gunshot to the chest. "Peter...come on," Neal said. "Elizabeth won't be happy - at all - if we get blood on her couch."

"Yeah..." Peter took Neal's hand and drew a finger over the cut, relieved when it closed.

"Six of seven," Neal said as he got up to clean his hand. He studied the other man when he came back. "I know I've said it, Elizabeth's said it but you are not a monster, Peter."

"I know that...up here," Peter said, tapping his head. "But I just...keep seeing Corman...on the ground, knowing I did that to him." He dropped his gaze. "And what if I never get the fire back?"

"You'll still be Peter Burke," Neal said. "FBI agent, Elizabeth's husband, my friend and partner, Moz's quasi-nemesis. So, you lose a little piece of your magic. You'll still be you." He smiled a little. "But I think you will. It'll just take a little time is all."

"It's been two months," Peter said.

"And how long do you think I was flashing back to the plane?" Neal asked. He sighed. "There's no set time for getting over a trauma," he said then returned Peter's glower with one of his own. "It was, Peter. Anyone would have been traumatized after seeing someone burn...well, maybe not Keller...But yeah, even big bad FBI agents would have a problem processing it. They'd need time to come to terms with what they saw." He sat forward a little. "Ask Ruiz," he said. "As head of Violent Crime you can bet he's seen some horrific things. Ask him how long it took him to stop seeing them."

"I don't think Ruiz is the one to ask," Peter said a bit dryly. "But I get what you're saying." He sighed. "It's just...I've had it - all of it - so long, I can barely remember when I didn't."

"You still have it Peter," Neal said. "It's just blocked. You keep seeing Corman so you won't let yourself use it anymore."

"You're saying it's psychological," Peter said.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Neal said. He let out a breath, sounding amused. "The problem will be getting through that thick skull of yours."

"You're saying I'm stubborn?"

"You chased me for three years, need I say more?" Neal asked, brow raised. "And you were stubborn enough to not give up on me."

 

"So, how'd it go?" Elizabeth asked as she and Neal prepared dinner.

"No progress really," Neal said. "My theory is he keeps seeing Corman so he won't let himself call up the fire. I told him it was possible he wasn't even alive when he burned. Moz didn't hear anything so I doubt Peter did either."

"He just seems so...frustrated," Elizabeth said.

"He thinks he should be past it by now," Neal said. "I told him it doesn't work that way."

"Well, you know Peter," Elizabeth said. "He'll try to push through it and that might make it worse."

"Which will frustrate him more," Neal said. "Which will make it worse and so on and so on."

"We'll just have to try to keep his mind of it," Elizabeth said. "My bet is it'll come back when he least expects it."

"You sure about that?" Peter asked from the door.

"As sure as I can be, hon," Elizabeth said. "You need to stop dwelling on it. That might help."

"I'm trying not to think about it," Peter said. "It's not like I _want_ to remember."

"Give it time," Elizabeth said. "Now, if you'd set the table, dinner's almost done."

As they ate, they managed to avoid the topic of Peter's inability and Elizabeth told stories about her latest problem client and Neal updated them on Moz's latest theory on government mind control experiments.

 

Elizabeth opened her eyes, wondering what had woken her and reached beside her, finding the other side of the bed empty - Peter hadn't come to bed. With a sigh, she got up, making her way cautiously in the dark. In the dim light of a streetlight, she saw Peter sitting on the couch, his posture telling her quite clearly that something was on his mind and she had a good idea what it was. "Oh, hon..." she sighed, sitting beside him, tucking her feet up beside her. "I know you're worried about this but you can't keep doing this to yourself. You have to let it go."

"It's like I...misplaced part of myself," Peter said quietly.

"You'll find it," Elizabeth said, squeezing his hand. "I know you will. Now, come to bed, okay?"

With a sigh, Peter stood and followed her upstairs, hoping she was right.

She was.

 

"A landfill? That's new, even for us," Neal said, wrinkling his nose at the myriad smells that combined in less than pleasant ways.

"Well, we're not exactly _in_ the landfill," Peter said.

"Close enough."

They'd chased their current suspect - believed to be behind a string of robberies at high end jewelry stores - to an old shipyard next to a busy landfill, its mountains of garbage and trash methodically bulldozed under to make room for even more refuse.

"Scrying won't help?" Neal asked.

"Probably not," Peter said. "One pile of trash looks the same as any other."

"What about looking for the jewelry rather than our suspect?" Neal asked. "You know he has to have them stashed somewhere. They're too hot for the market right now."

"I've never tried looking for some _thing_ ," Peter said thoughtfully. He pulled out his mirror. "Hang on," he said. "Tell me if you spot him." A few minutes later, he shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I need to know who - or what - I'm looking for looks like."

"And the insurance photos are back at the office," Neal said. "I'd do it but...well...I can't."

"I appreciate the thought but I'm not sure I can either," Peter said, replacing the mirror. "Come on, let's get back to the office. I don't think we'll find him here, not in all this."

But as they walked back to the car, they caught sight of their suspect and gave chase, winding their way through the abandoned buildings with him staying just out of reach, both physically and of Peter's magic.

"Damn it!" Peter growled in frustration as the man slipped through a hole in the fence into the landfill proper. They came to a stop by one of the buildings and Peter made to hit the wall...but it wasn't his hand that made contact - it was a small ball of fire.

"Peter..." Neal said cautiously.

"What?"

"Do that again."

"Do what?"

"Look at your hand."

Peter looked down, his eyes widening as he saw the flames licking around his fingers. He looked at Neal as if he hadn't a clue as to what was happening. "It's back," he whispered.

"Yeah, it is," Neal said, unable to stop the smile.

Peter closed his hand into a fist then opened it again. Immediately, flames appeared, filling his palm and he laughed with what could only be relief.

"Okay, let's get back to the office and see if we can find out where he's hiding everything," Neal said.

Peter was unsure but willing to try so once they got back to the office, he spread the insurance photos on his desk and pulled out the mirror. Neal watched as the glass clouded then the image of a sapphire and diamond necklace appeared but he didn't see what Peter did next. He was curious how the process worked but would wait to ask until the other man wasn't occupied.

"Got it," Peter said, pocketing the mirror. "And we got him."

"Where?"

"There was a reason he went to the landfill," Peter said as they made their way to the elevator.

"He's holed up in one of those buildings," Neal said. "You found which one?"

"Oh yeah," Peter said with a slight smirk. "You drive so I can see if he rabbits or not."

 

About an hour later, they were back at the landfill and Peter strode up to the building nearest the access road, motioning for Neal to take position on the other side of the door. Neal held up a finger, causing Peter to look at him questioningly, then knocked almost politely, somewhat surprised when the door cracked open.

"Who're you?"

"I'm one of the people looking for the jewelry that's missing," Neal said. "You know, the stuff you don't dare sell right now or the Feds will be all over you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man - a kid really, being no more than twenty - said, his eyes cutting to the side, looking like he was ready to bolt...if he had any place to run.

"Sure you do," Neal said pleasantly then shoved the door open, making the kid stumble back.

"Hey!"

"If you don't have them, you won't mind if I look around," Neal said, strolling inside. And there, on a rickety table, was a pile of rings, necklaces and bracelets. "Nice stash," he said. "A bit of advice though: turn yourself in because the agent on your case...like a dog with a bone. He won't stop until he has you in cuffs."

"Are you comparing me to Satchmo, Neal?" Peter asked, coming inside, his brows raising when he saw the jewelry.

"Nah. Satch isn't quite as single-minded," Neal said.

"Is it all there?" Peter asked, putting the cuffs on a suddenly cooperative suspect.

"Think so, " Neal said. "I'll have to compare it to the list of stolen items." Seeing a leather satchel on the floor, he gathered the jewelry into it. "Handy..."

"So who are you?" the kid asked.

"Name's Neal Caffrey."

" _The_ Neal Caffrey?" the kid asked, almost awestruck.

Peter rolled his eyes at the tone. "Yes, that Neal Caffrey," he said. "Come on, kid. Time to go."

"But Peter, he's a fan..."

"You just want to have your ego stroked," Peter said, interrupting him. "Besides, he'll have your company all the way to the office. I'm sure that'll be plenty of time."

"Well, now I know how Tulane felt," Neal said as they got in the car.

"Huh. Seemed to me Tulane was a little irritated when you went all fanboy on him," Peter said.

"I didn't go all fanboy on him," Neal said, sounding affronted. "I just told him I admired his...alleged work."

"You fanboy'd him," Peter said with a smirk.

 

When Peter got home that evening, Elizabeth immediately noticed the difference in his demeanor. "Hon?"

Peter pulled her into his arms and kissed her, long and slow. "It's back, hon," he said softly. He unwound one arm and held out his hand, a flame appearing almost instantly.

Elizabeth gave a squeal of delight and hugged him. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Yeah, you did," Peter said. "I should have known not to doubt you."

"So, tell me about it," Elizabeth said. She waited until he got a beer and settled on the couch then curled up beside him.

"Well, we were chasing our jewel thief and he led us to a landfill..." He told her how they'd chased him through and around the abandoned buildings until he'd given them the slip through a hole in the fence, how he'd gotten frustrated and the resultant - small - fireball.

"Nothing caught fire?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, it was cinderblock wall," Peter said. "It was Neal who noticed. I didn't even feel it."

"And Corman?" Elizabeth asked gently.

Peter sighed. "It still bothers me," he said. "But..."

"But?"

"It's not like I haven't killed anyone in the line of duty before," Peter said. "I just didn't use a gun that time." He let out a breath. "And I learned something. I learned that I don't know everything about what I can do. We found this...kid because I looked for what he stole. And, it's possible that Corman was killed by the fireball and he didn't burn to death."

"You're a good man, Peter Burke," Elizabeth said, squeezing his hand. "I knew you didn't have it in you."

"You can't blame me for wondering," Peter said. "I'd never even considered doing that before - Keller not withstanding. That was just an empty threat."

"Hon, you were angry - furious, I'd bet - and you were scared," Elizabeth said. "Even the most clear headed person can't be expected to think rationally in those circumstances. And don't forget, you saved Neal, not to mention those children. I hate to say it but Corman wasn't worth what it did to you."

"But you said it anyway."

"Because you needed to hear it, hon. Corman sold stolen antiquities, stolen guns...and stolen children. He shot and almost killed your best friend and partner. No one blamed you for what you did or why you did it...except you."

Peter laid his head against her as she rested against his shoulder. "What did I do to deserve you again?" he asked. "Because I can't think of a single thing."

"It's not about deserve, hon," Elizabeth said. "It's about love." She settled more closely against him. "Now, it's been a while. Show me."

Peter smiled and opened his hand, bathing the room with rainbow light and Elizabeth sighed, content. "It's magic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who's read this far, I have two questions:  
> 1\. Do I end the story here or continue it?  
> 2\. If I add another chapter, do I keep it gen or go slash?
> 
> Let me know in the comments. Thank you.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone else knows Peter's secret...and he didn't tell them. And he finds himself in an entirely too familiar situation.

When the team filed into the conference room, Peter was already there, a stack of casefiles on the table in front of him. He stood with his hands braced on the surface, gazing down, obviously lost in thought.

"Peter?" Neal asked, curious.

The agent drew a breath and straightened. "Before we get started on our next case, I'm informing you that I've been called to Washington and Jones will be interim team leader."

"Washington? Why?"

"I wasn't told but when a U.S. Senator tell you he wants a meet, you don't decline," Peter said. He saw the next question and answered it. "The Senator in question is Senator Hamilton and as for how long I'll be gone, hopefully not very. Now that that's out of the way, on to our case." He passed around the files, giving them the highlights as he did.

 

The next day...

 

Peter sat in Senator Hamilton's outer office, bored out of his skull. He'd gotten up at the crack of dawn to take the early train to Washington to make the meeting the Senator had "requested" on time. That was almost an hour ago by Peter's watch and still no sign of the Senator nor how much longer he'd have to wait. To pass the time, he checked in with the office, asking for an update on the case he'd left them with the day before. He looked up when a woman approached.

"Agent Burke? The Senator will see you now."

He rose and followed the woman to a spacious office, recognizing the man who sat at the desk that dominated the room. - Senator Hamilton.

"Agent Burke," the Senator said pleasantly as he stood, extending a hand.

Peter shook, noting the shrewdness in the man's expression, how he was regarding him assessingly and his gut twinged. "I admit I"m curious about why you wanted to see me, Senator," he said, taking the proffered chair across the desk. "Not often someone in your position requests a meeting with an agent."

"I've heard...interesting things about you, Burke," Hamilton said. "Your team has the highest closure rate in the Bureau, you've partnered with a convicted felon..."

"I have a good team," Peter said. "As for my partner, he's been a major asset, not only to my team but to the Bureau as a whole but that's not why you wanted to see me, is it?"

"Not one to beat around the bush, are you? But you're right, your record at the Bureau isn't what I want to discuss." He paused for more than a moment and Peter knew what he was trying to do - he was trying to make him uncomfortable, nervous. It was a familiar tactic - he'd used it himself in interrogation. But Peter wasn't falling for it and just waited, his own expression pleasant. The Senator nodded fractionally, aware he'd been read. "I know what you are, Burke," he said.

"I'm a lot of things Senator," Peter said. "I'm a son to my parents, a brother to my sister, husband to Elizabeth, partner and friend to Neal Caffrey - that felon you mentioned - boss to my team, an agent of the FBI and ASAC of the White Collar division, Manhattan Field Office. I'm also a fan of the Yankees and crosswords and master to an elderly Yellow Lab. Have I missed anything?"

"You're also, for lack of a better label, a magic user," the Senator said.

Peter's gut clenched but he kept his expression blank. "Excuse me?"

"A magic user, Burke," Hamilton repeated. "I've heard stories from sources I consider reliable."

Peter chuckled. "Magic? Really? Listen Senator, I don't know who told you these stories nor do I care. The fact is, magic is make believe. I know someone who's convinced the moon landing was faked and a Gulf War vet is responsible for the assassination of JFK and _he_ doesn't believe in magic. But, I'm curious. What, exactly, were you told? Give me an example if you would."

The Senator sat back, once again regarding the agent. "I heard you caught Matthew Keller using a mirror, immobilizing him before you took him into custody," he said.

"I located Keller through good intel," Peter said. "And I immobilized him like anyone else in law enforcement would - with handcuffs."

"What about Corman? The man who shot your partner?"

"What about him?"

"I heard he was burned to death but no accelerant was found."

"Word on the street has it Corman was a victim of a mob hit," Peter said. "Because he not only dealt in arms and antiquities, he dealt in children. The Five Families are ruthless sons of bitches but even they draw the line at selling kids. I'm not even sure when Mr. Corman was killed nor, to be honest, do I really care. Investigating his death isn't my department. And I must tell you, Senator, the fact that you put credence in these stories makes me wonder about your ability to adequately serve your constituents." He stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to - like finding out who ripped off the Powell Museum for almost three million in art."

"We'll speak again, agent."

"Only if you're the victim of a crime that's in my purview and in my jurisdiction," Peter said. "With all due respect Senator, my time is better spent solving crimes than answering questions about my non-existent abilities." With a brief nod, he left the office and pulled out his phone. "Neal," he said when his partner answered. "I know this may sound Mozzie level paranoid but could you request his services as cleaner for me? I'll explain when I get back. It should be sometime tonight. I'm on the first train back since I refuse to stay here one minute longer than necessary. I'll call El and see if she'd mind two guests for dinner. All right, see you then." Peter hung up and stepped into the elevator. Besides "cleaning" the house, he'd ask Moz - as one of the less than a handful of people who knew - to do some digging and try to find out who the Senator's source or sources were. His logical mind - and his gut - told him it was someone close, someone he interacted with on a daily basis. He immediately dismissed Elizabeth, Neal and Moz as well as his core team. Perhaps a new addition to the office, a probie hoping to score points, ingratiate him or herself with the Senator in return for a choice assignment. When he exited the building, he called Elizabeth and told her the bare bones of the story, explaining that he wanted Moz to do some cleaning. He didn't go into detail since it had occurred to him that their phones could be bugged as well. After all, Fowler had done it, no reason a Senator of Hamilton's stature couldn't pull strings to have it done again. But that didn't make him wonder as much as how the Senator had first heard. He'd been careful by years long habit - the only time he'd lost control, hadn't cared was when Neal had been shot and he'd killed Corman with a fireball and though he'd never know for certain, he'd figured out Moz had made it look like a mob hit.

 

Later that evening, Peter, Neal and Elizabeth sat out on the back patio as Moz did his rounds and Peter explained more fully about his conversation with the Senator.

"You think it _could_ be someone in the office?" Elizabeth asked.

"I hope not but it's a distinct possibility," Peter said. "He said his sources are reliable."

"I can make some inquiries too," Neal said. "Moz isn't the only one with ears on the street."

"If someone saw you, then they've been watching you for a while," Elizabeth said. "You've only slipped once and you were under duress at the time. We know how careful you are when it comes to your magic."

"She has a point," Neal said. "She and I found out by accident. Moz is the only one you've told and that was because he'd have figured it out anyway."

Just then, Moz came out and placed almost a dozen bugs on the table, looking a little grim. "Is anyone else feeling a bit of deja vu?" he asked.

"Yeah, but it's not Fowler this time," Peter said. "And I doubt it's OPR." He handed them back to Moz. "I'm sure you know what to do with these," he said.

"Do I have to destroy them?" Moz asked, closing his fist around them. "These are high end tech. It'd be a shame to waste them."

"Finders keepers," Peter said. "You found them, so..."

Moz gave him a nod and deposited them in his bag. "I assume you don't want to know," he said, accepting the wine Elizabeth handed him.

"Best if I don't," Peter said. "Plausible deniability if someone finds them."

Moz gave him a mock affronted look. "As if I'd be that careless," he said. "You wound me, Suit."

"My apologies," Peter said, mouth quirked in a smile. He sobered. "If it's not an imposition, I'd like you to dig into a few people for me."

"The new probies?" Neal asked.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Actually, all the new people in the office - I'll get you the names. Jones, Blake, Callahan and Kelsey I don't think we need worry about. They've more than established themselves, they know they don't need any favors to move up."

"I'll also look into whoever Keller, Hickman and Richardson may have told," Moz said. "And those two who had you in Glen Cove, Rayburn and Ferguson."

"That's a tall order," Peter said, concerned that the quirky little man was taking on too much.

"You've got your people, Suit," Moz said. "And I've got mine."

"You know I can't really thank you for this - for all of it," Peter said.

"You trusted me with your secret," Moz said. "And as much as I distrust the government in general, you've never given me a reason to distrust you and it's not in my nature to betray a trust once it's given. Besides, if you're locked up in some secret government lab getting experimented on, who'll keep Neal here out of trouble? Or more importantly, out of prison?"

"I haven't been in danger of going to prison for a while now, Moz," Neal said, amused.

"But you still get in trouble," Moz said. "I know Peter has your back when I can't...and he's had mine more than once." He drained his glass and stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, lady, I do believe I have some plans to set in motion."

"I'll assume I'm better off not knowing," Peter said.

"You assume correctly," Moz said then, after giving them each a nod, took his leave.

Elizabeth studied her husband as she sipped her wine, seeing the faintly disturbed expression he wore. "It bothers you," she said. "It bothers you that one of your own could be spying on you."

Peter sighed, nodding. "Yeah," he said. "And I thought I was being so careful."

"You _are_ careful," Neal said. "I know you better than anyone except Elizabeth and I never dreamed you had a secret this big. It took being almost discovered by two low level smugglers for me to find out."

"Well, someone obviously put more credence in the stories than I'd expected and brought them to the Senator's attention - and he believes them," Peter said. "And I think the more pressing question is what is he going to do with the information."

"I'm sure Moz would have about a dozen answers for that," Neal said, sounding a little amused.

"Well, I can think of a couple," Peter said. "And neither is pleasant - locked up in a lab somewhere...or blackmail."

"Blackmail?' Elizabeth asked a bit sharply. "What could they possibly have on you? You have an exemplary record at the Bureau..."

"Maybe blackmail is the wrong word," Peter said. "The Senator threatens to expose me if I pursue a case against him or one of his staff, his inner circle..."

"He'd have to prove it, wouldn't he?' Neal asked. "Right now, it would be your word against his. He can't _make_ you use your magic. No one can."

"True, but he can make my job more difficult," Peter said. "He implies I'm some sort of freak..."

"You're not a freak!" Elizabeth and Neal said in unison.

Peter's mouth quirked in a smile at their outraged tone. "All right, I'm not a freak," he said. "But if people start treating me...different then my job gets harder, they'd be more interested in what I can do than they'd be in getting to the bottom of a crime."

"You don't want to be a sideshow," Neal said.

"Would you?...Never mind, forget I asked," Peter said, amused when Neal rolled his eyes.

"I get what you're saying," Neal said, sobering. "You were never one for the spotlight, you prefer the work take center stage, not you."

Elizabeth gathered the glasses and Peter's beer bottle as she stood. "Well, until this Senator...or one of his cronies does something, there's no sense in worrying about it."

"My wife, ever practical," Peter said as he and Neal stood as well.

 

The next day, he requested the logs for all calls going in and out of the unit for the last year. If it was someone in the office, he'd find out who. Once the logs arrived, he holed up in his office with Neal.

"What are we looking for?" Neal asked when Peter handed him roughly half the pages.

"Any number with a Washington area code," Peter said. "Incoming or outgoing. Then we'll see what extensions took or made the call."

"And if they used their cell?"

"Then we'll have to see what Moz can dig up."

 

Neal sat back and rubbed his eyes. Peter wasn't looking much better. Scattered on the desk were copious notes, detailing every number made to or from Washington - what extension it was from or was routed to, how long it lasted, what time it was placed or received. "I had no idea we called Washington so many times in the last year," he said.

"Yeah," Peter said tiredly. "I got nothing, really. You?"

"Maybe," Neal said thoughtfully. He turned a page so Peter could see. "Right here," he said, pointing to half a dozen calls made to the Capitol and as many received - all from or to the same extension. "It could be nothing but it couldn't hurt to check out."

"Whose extension?" Peter asked.

"That's the thing," Neal said. "It's mine."

"But you wouldn't..."

"No, I wouldn't," Neal said. "As for the number that was called...any idea what the Senator's is by any chance?"

"No, but we could probably find out," Peter said. He regarded his partner a moment. He knew, in his gut, that Neal wouldn't spy on him, especially for a Senator - not after the Pratt fiasco - so the question was, who used Neal's phone to make those calls? He frowned. "What's the dates on those calls?" he asked.

Neal checked the dates again. "Umm, first, almost six months ago and it's been about once a month since. The last about three days before the Senator wanted a meet."

"And where were we on those dates?"

"Most likely out of the office," Neal said. "Anyone could have used my phone. No one would have thought anything of it, really."

"Damn," Peter sighed. "I really don't want to interrogate my own team."

"And my desk isn't on any camera," Neal said. He sat back with a frustrated sigh. "Want me to see if Moz found anything?"

"Later. We have another, more important case to work," Peter said. "As El pointed out, no sense in worrying until the Senator or one of his cronies does something."

 

They'd just found a promising lead on the Powell robbery when Peter received a call from a harried sounding Elizabeth. "Hon, slow down. Now, what's the problem?"

"I found a _bug_ in my office," Elizabeth said, anger barely in check.

"Where?"

"In my phone. After Moz found them in the house...well, I guess some of his paranoia rubbed off. I found one in the phone and my desk lamp. As for others, I haven't checked."

"All right. Call Moz and have him do a sweep," Peter said. "Same deal as at the house."

"Well, I've already destroyed the two I found."

"I'm sure he won't hold it against you," Peter said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"And since my office was bugged..."

"More information could be gathered by listening into mine," Peter said. "Even though I don't talk about it in the office."

"Never? What about when you and Neal are working late? When everyone else is gone?"

Peter swore softly. There had been many late nights with just him and Neal in his office, more than once where conversation had veered to his magic, especially in the early days when Neal had had a lot of questions. "I could very well be one of Hamilton's sources. Neal too...not that we knew it..." He let out a breath. "Could you maybe ask Moz to brave Fed Central...?"

"I'll see what I can do."

 

"You want me to what?!" Moz exclaimed when Elizabeth broached the subject.

"Sweep Peter's office," Elizabeth said. She paused a moment. "Moz, _my_ office was bugged, my phone was bugged. We hardly ever even alluded to his magic there. We mostly talked about it face to face and that usually at home. You saw yourself what was there. Peter said he and Neal talked about it in his office after hours. And if you think about it, what could be more secure than an office in the middle of the Federal Building? Who'd think it could be bugged?"

Moz sighed, polishing his glasses. "All right," he said a bit reluctantly. "I'll do it...as long as the Demi-Suits aren't there."

"Thank you, Moz," Elizabeth said. "I'll talk Peter into buying you a nice bottle of wine."

"Syrah if you can talk him into it," Moz said.

"Oh, I'll be able to," Elizabeth said, smiling a bit impishly.

 

Peter sat at his desk, frowning thunderously at the small transmitter he held. After talking to Elizabeth, he'd checked his desk phone and found the bug in the receiver - standard Bureau issue, just like at the house. Unlike the last time they'd been bugged, he said nothing to the listener, just put it on his desk and brought his coffee mug down, smashing it to pieces, his smile a bit savage when he imagined the wince at the feedback. He knew they could still listen in on his cell but he planned on picking up a few burner phones on the way home - one for him, one for Elizabeth, one for Neal. Moz, he didn't worry about - the little man used nothing _but_ burner phones. And better safe than sorry, especially since he didn't know what the Senator wanted or what he planned to do with the information. And he still wanted to know how he'd found out.

Later, after everyone else had gone home and it was just Peter and Neal, the elevator opened and Moz crept out warily, making sure the others had gone. Once he was satisfied, he made his way quickly through the bullpen and up to Peter's office. Pulling out his equipment, he began sweeping the room as Peter and Neal waited in the conference room next door.

"The loft is clean?" Peter asked.

"As of two days ago," Neal said. "You know Moz checks regularly."

"The worst thing about this whole situation is wondering what the hell Hamilton wants," Peter said.

"Well, I think I can shed some light on who if not what," Moz said as he joined them. He deposited another three transmitters on the table. "Those people you wanted me to check? One of you Junior Suits has a personal tie to the Senator."

"Which one?"

"Reston. Abigail Reston," Moz said.

"How personal?"

"Nothing familial," Moz said. "Goddaughter. Got her assignment here thanks to your friend in Washington."

"She's a decent enough agent," Peter said. "But, yeah, she should have gone to another field office."

"She's probably the one who used my phone," Neal said. "Checking in, getting instructions..."

"Speaking of phones, they missed yours, Suit," Moz said.

"No, they didn't," Peter said. "Found that one and got rid of it." He picked up the others and suddenly they were enveloped in flames, leaving behind tiny bits of plastic and wires.

"You sure OPR has nothing to do with this?" Neal asked. "Those were standard issue bugs, not from a spy shop."

"I had my doubts but now I'm beginning to wonder," Peter said. "Hamilton wouldn't have the juice to authorize bugging the house, my office and Elizabeth's."

"How about we turn the tables on him?" Neal asked.

"Bug _his_ office?' Moz asked. "How would you even get in?"

"I have more than one trick up my sleeve," Peter said. "No one will even see us coming."

"Us?' Neal asked, brow raised in question.

"When was the last time you were in the Capitol?"

"Can we stop by the National Museum while we're there? Maybe the Smithsonian?"

"We'll see," Peter said, amused. "If your fingers aren't feeling particularly sticky."

"Any souvenirs will come from the gift shop. Promise. So when are we doing this?"

"Give me a few days to get things set up," Peter said. "And Moz, if you'd do more digging into Agent Reston. See if she has any ties to OPR as well."

 

"Are you sure that's wise?" Elizabeth asked when Peter told her what they had planned. "Bugging a Senator's office is beyond risky."

"I know," Peter said. "And I wouldn't even consider it if I didn't have certain...advantages." He regarded his wife, seeing the worry. "El, this is beyond what Fowler did. Hamilton is going after all of us - everyone who knows. The only reason Moz isn't on that list is because he's so...slippery. And paranoid. And I want to know what this son of a bitch wants. If that means turning the tables on him and bugging his office, then so be it."

 

Peter and Neal stood in the hallway near Hamilton's office, conversing about inconsequentialities, acting as if they belonged there while government interns, aides and workers passed by, none giving them more than a passing glance. They were waiting for the Senator to leave his office. Moz had retuned the bugs and set up the receiver at the house, recording everything on the laptop Peter had purchased just for that purpose. Of course, Moz had protested, saying it would be more secure at one of his safehouses but came up against the need to keep their locations secret, even from Peter. In the end, the receiver and laptop were set up in the Brooklyn townhouse.

Neal nudged Peter, his eyes flicking to the side - Hamilton had left his office and was making his way to the Senate chamber in the opposite direction. "Ready?" he asked in a low voice.

"Just need to find someplace a bit more...private," Peter said. "You have them?" He gave a short nod when Neal patted his pocket.

Minutes later, they made their way through the halls unseen - literally - until they came to Hamilton's office. Neal looked around out of habit before they eased inside. They barely breathed as they went past Hamilton's secretary and into the inner office. Closing the door behind them, Peter dropped the "spell" and Neal set to work, planting a bug in the phone, in the base of the desk lamp and by the small bar in the corner. "Done. Let's get out of here." They made their way out just as cautiously as they'd entered and neither breathed easily until they were out of the building.

 

"Well, I assume it went well," Elizabeth said later that evening. "You're not in jail."

"As well as it could," Peter said. "Now we wait to see if he says anything interesting." He sighed. "I hate this," he said. "Reminds me too much of Fowler."

"Any idea how he found out?"

"Not yet," Peter said. He was silent for a long moment, thinking that it was most likely he'd slipped in some small way, someone had brought it to Hamilton's attention and the Senator had pulled enough strings to get surveillance on him. "Should I...should I not use my magic again? I mean, look at what's happening..."

"That's your decision, hon. It's your magic but if you want my advice..."

"Always."

"Your magic is part of you," Elizabeth said. "After what happened with Corman, when you lost part of it, you said it was like you'd misplaced part of yourself. If you deliberately close that part off, then I don't think you'll be happy, even if you do it to protect us. So my advice is do what feels right to you. We'll get through this." She gave him a soft smile. "You _like_ having your magic, like having others know...as long as it's you deciding who does."

"So, follow my gut," Peter said.

"It's rarely steered you wrong, hon. So yes, follow your gut."

 

"Suit, I have something more on your mole," Moz said a few days later. "Not only is she goddaughter to your Senator, she's also a seasoned agent."

"She's a probie," Peter said. "How seasoned can she be?"

"Her records were falsified," Moz said, topping off his glass. "While her name _is_ Abigail Reston, she graduated Quantico six years ago and was almost immediately recruited by OPR."

"And planted in my office as a probie," Peter said, disgusted. "I'm not often fooled but she did it. She acts just like every new agent I've had."

"She's a con," Neal said. "And she's _good_."

Peter saw Neal's own disgusted look and said, "Don't feel bad. She fooled us because we didn't suspect, had no reason to suspect."

"So what do we do?" Neal asked.

"Don't know yet," Peter said. "Anything from the bugs?"

"Just the usual governmental claptrap," Moz said. "Backroom deals, payments under the table, that sort of thing."

"He's taking bribes?"

"Don't all politicians?" Moz asked in turn. He sighed. "From what I've gathered, yes, he's taking bribes from several fracking companies. They want him to open up protected lands in New York so they can set up operations."

"And if the bribes come to light it would become a matter for the FBI," Neal said. "White Collar, Peter in particular."

"And my credibility would be compromised if he makes me look like a freak, for lack of a better word," Peter said. "Not to mention all the high profile cases we closed could come up for review."

"Why?"

"If it's suspected that my information came from means that could be considered illegal then those cases are called into question."

"And scrying could be considered illegal," Neal said. He sat back in his chair. "So, I'm assuming that someone in OPR owes Hamilton a favor and he has his goddaughter planted in the office to get dirt on you and somehow finds out about your magic. She decided to tell the Senator who sees it as an opportunity to keep you off the case - should it become one - by threatening to expose you."

"One way to neutralize the threat," Peter said calmly but the others could see the reluctance.

"No Peter, you're not going public," Neal said sharply. "No one here wants you to be treated as some sort of freak. The NSA will be all over you and Elizabeth will probably never see you again. And I know you're not a fan of the clandestine services. Any one of them could force your transfer. You'd never work While Collar again."

"He's right, Suit," Moz said. "CIA, NSA, you'll be lucky to see the light of day if their scientists get hold of you."

Peter conceded the point. If the government he worked for found out about his magic, he'd be yanked away from the work he loved, had trained for, transferred to who knew where and put through his paces, all the while being asked questions he really couldn't answer. "So, how do we get him to back off?"

There was no answer until Moz smirked and said, "No politician likes being made to look like a fool. Let him expose you. It didn't work for Keller so how do you think Hamilton would look if he tried it?"

"He'd be laughed out of office," Neal said. "His sanity would be questioned and he could kiss re-election goodbye."

"What about his stoolie?" Moz asked.

"You let me handle her," Peter said. "I'm still her superior. I can have her transferred."

"She's OPR," Neal reminded him.

"And unless they want to come out of the woodwork on this, they won't object," Peter said. "Let them explain why they have me under investigation. They've got nothing. Reston's probably only there because someone in OPR owes Hamilton a favor. That smacks of corruption. After Fowler, I doubt they want that implication raised again."

 

It was almost a week before Peter could deal with Agent Reston as they wrapped up the Powell robbery and took the perpetrator into custody. Once the paperwork was filled out and filed, he called her up into his office.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Peter studied her a moment then said, "As much as regular cops don't like IA, Federal agents don't like OPR."

"Sir?"

"Can the innocent act, Agent Reston," Peter said. "I know you're OPR. Have been since you graduated the Academy six years ago. You just tell your boss or whoever owed Hamilton a favor that I want you out of here. OPR has nothing on me - I know it, they know it."

"They have the burning death of a suspected human trafficker," Reston said.

"And like I told the Senator, that was a mob hit," Peter said. "Or weren't you kept in the loop?"

"There's also your...magic."

"Magic," Peter said, letting a note of derision creep into his voice. "The only magic I'm capable of is somehow keeping a beautiful woman happy for over a decade."

"I heard the tapes! You and Caffrey, you and your wife!"

"And you don't have inside jokes with your coworkers? The people you're close to? I've been working with Caffrey since you left the Academy and married for a decade longer. We have our inside jokes, our shorthand. If you choose to believe in actual magic, I have to question your ability to do this job. Now, get out of my office and out of my division." When she reached the door, he added, "And tell your godfather I'll be paying him a visit in the near future."

"My godfather, sir?"

"Senator Hamilton." She turned to look at him a bit wide eyed and he said, "I have my sources."

 

As it happened, the companies that were paying off the Senator came to the attention of White Collar after evidence of other, less than above board activities came to light. In their financials were indications that several someones in Washington were receiving generous "donations" and one of them was Senator Hamilton of New York.

"He should have gotten a Swiss account," Neal said when they discovered the trail of funds coming from the fracking companies being transferred straight into Hamilton's account. He regarded his partner a moment, smiling a little. "So, when's the showdown? And can I be there?"

"Do you really think I'd leave you out of it?' Peter asked.

Neal grinned. "So, are you still going to dazzle him with your magic?" he asked.

"I'm tempted," Peter said. "Maybe the more...interesting stuff."

 

"You can't go in there!" Hamilton's secretary protested when Neal and Peter strode through to the door of the inner office. She reached for her phone. "I'm calling Security." But she'd barely but a hand on the phone before she froze.

"This might take more than twenty minutes," Neal said.

"It might but I doubt it," Peter said, entering Hamilton's office unannounced.

"What's the meaning of this?" Hamilton asked, outraged, slapping Neal's hand away from his phone. "What are you doing?"

"You have a bug problem, Senator," Peter said, retrieving the bug from near the bar and the one from the lamp. When Neal gave him the one from the phone, his hand filled with flame. "Yeah, I lied about the magic," he said. "But you know what? You're not going to tell anyone."

"And why not?" Hamilton asked evenly.

"Because you'll serve your time in a psych ward."

"What are you talking about?"

"This, Senator," Neal said, tossing the financial records on the desk. "Proof you've been taking bribes from several fracking companies to open up protected land in New York."

"I could have your badge for bugging my office," Hamilton said.

"Can you prove it was me?" Peter asked. "Your secretary is usually at her post, is she not? Ask her if I've been here since you threatened me."

"I didn't threaten you."

"It was implied."

"Check the security cameras," Neal said. "I noticed at least one that has your office door in its field of view."

"Where _is_ my secretary?" Hamilton suddenly asked.

"At her desk."

"Then Security is on the way," Hamilton said, relaxing a little.

"No, don't think so," Peter said. "I froze her before she could make the call."

"You...froze her?"

Neal tossed the Senator's coffee mug into the air, watching his eyes widen when it failed to fall. "Neat trick, huh?" he said, smirking a little.

"Trick, Neal?" Peter asked, brow quirked. "It's magic. Ask Elizabeth." He grabbed the mug and placed it back on the desk. "Now, I'm going to pay a little visit to the local field office and show them what we found..."

"You're out of your jurisdiction."

"I was investigating the companies paying you off," Peter said. "And they _are_ in my jurisdiction. So, the local field office. I'll inform them of what was discovered so expect another visit from the Bureau. If you mention what just happened, you look desperate, your sanity will be questioned. Now, you're going to tell me who in OPR owed you a favor, why you were spying on me and how long it's been going on."

"No one owed me a favor, not really," Hamilton said.

"So how'd I get on their radar?"

"Corman."

"What's he got to do with this?"

Hamilton sighed. "Corman was Abigail's fiance," he said.

"She was engaged to a black marketeer?" Did she know?" Peter asked.

"What do you think?"

"She'll be charged as an accessory if she did," Peter said. "So, she finds out that Neal and I met with him and he turns up dead. OPR, being the suspicious bastards they are, start investigating me after a push from Abigail. They bug my house, my office, my _wife's_ office and you find out about my magic."

"That's the long and short of it," Hamilton said. "I thought I could use it as a bargaining chip if this came to light." He gestured at the papers on his desk.

"You're not the first to try to get something on me," Peter said.

"Yeah, I heard about Judge Clark," Hamilton said. "And Agent Fowler. Seems like everyone who goes up against you falls."

"But you thought you'd try anyway," Neal said.

"You made it personal, Senator," Peter said. "Same way Fowler did. You involved my wife and that crossed a line." He straightened, gathering the financial records. "Well, I've got a job to do," he said. "And don't worry about your secretary. She'll be fine."

"What else can you do?" Hamilton asked as they reached the door.

"That's on a need to know basis," Peter said. "And you don't. Good day, Senator." As they passed through the outer door,Peter unfroze the secretary. "No need to call Security," he said. "We're leaving."

After a stop at the Washington Field Office, where they passed on the information they'd gathered to its White Collar division, they took the first train back to New York, getting there in time to watch the news showing Senatar Hamilton's arrest for corruption. And, as he'd requested, Peter's name was kept out of it, the source being cited as anonymous. Also anonymously received by the Washington office were recordings of Senator Hamilton's off book dealings.

"One less dirty politician," Peter said as he, Neal, Elizabeth and Moz sat out back.

"There'll be another to take his place," Moz said. "Always is."

"Unfortunately, you're right," Peter said. "Maybe more dirty, maybe less."

"So what will happen to Agent Reston?" Elizabeth asked.

"She's back with OPR," Peter said. "Up to them is she continues with the Bureau. There may not be any evidence that she knew about Corman's activities but they're aware of the possibility."

Elizabeth regarded her husband and he saw the question. "It's been a while hon..."

Peter smiled and lifted his hand, the patio brightened up with rainbow lights, slowly cycling through the colors and he heard her sigh. Even Moz had a smile touching his mouth as he sipped his wine.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal are after a dangerous criminal and Moz proves instrumental in bringing him down.

Peter and Neal were in the loft going over their latest case - Elizabeth having taken over the house for one of her girls' nights - when they were startled by Moz barging in. "Is it true you're going after Marcus Ayala?" he half demanded.

"Moz...How did...?"

"It doesn't matter," Moz said, dropping into a chair. He regarded the agent with uncharacteristic solemnity. "You can't," he said. "He's too dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

"He makes Keller look like Gandhi," Moz said. "The last Fed who was on his tail disappeared. Gone. Poof. Rumor has it he's buried in several different states."

"What else does rumor say?" Peter asked. In the years he'd been working with Neal, he'd learned not to dismiss the word on the street - the intel proved right more often than not.

"That if he taps you for a job, you do it. Otherwise, you won't live much longer after you refuse. If he sees you talking to someone he even thinks _might_ be a cop, same consequences."

Peter leaned forward, chin propped on his clasped hands as he studied the other man, surprised but not when he bore it without fidgeting. That, more than anything Moz had said, told him how dangerous this man was. "He tapped you for a job," he said.

"Years ago. Before I met Neal, before Kate," Moz said, looking gratefully at Neal when a glass of wine was set in front of him. "I hadn't been in New York long myself when I heard he needed someone to do recon for a job he wanted done."

"He didn't do jobs himself?"

"He did but..." Moz sighed, taking a drink of wine. "But he had other people do the preliminary work."

"What happened?"

"The guy he'd gotten to override the alarms had to pull out," Moz said. "Something about his sister. Anyway, as soon as he finished explaining, Ayala pulls out a knife and slits his throat...no warning." Moz shuddered at the memory. "Needless to say, the rest of the crew did what they'd been told to do."

"And you?"

"The next time I heard he was looking for people, I made myself scarce," Moz said. "I kept out of his way but I kept my ears open, heard the chatter. No one crossed him if they wanted to keep breathing."

"Which is why we have to go after him," Peter said.

"Did you hear the part about the other Fed?" Moz asked, eyes wide. "They're still looking for him almost two decades later."

"I heard you," Peter said. "And I believe you but this other agent didn't have my advantages." A smile tugged his mouth when Moz caught his meaning.

"Too bad you're so dedicated to law and order," Moz said. "You'd have been a legend on the other side."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Peter said dryly but amused as well.

"You should," Moz said. "But I'll deny it if you say a word about it."

"I take it Ayala is in town," Neal said.

"Yeah, word has it he's been here for a few weeks," Moz said. "And he's got something big in the works."

"He's getting a crew together?" Neal asked interestedly.

"No, Neal," Peter said sternly, knowing what his partner was thinking.

So did Moz. "The Suit's right," he said. "Your work for the Bureau isn't exactly a well kept secret. You show up at Ayala's, you'll leave in a body bag. Your face is too well known among those Ayala would recruit."

When Moz agreed with Peter without even token protest, Neal knew to back down. "All right," he said. "So how do we get this guy? We have a generic description at best so we really don't know what he looks like."

There was an awkward silence from Moz before he said a bit diffidently, "I know what he looks like. Or, more accurately, what he used to look like. I haven't laid eyes on him in almost thirty years."

"How old _were _you when you came to New York?"__

__"I was fifteen," Moz said. "After my stint as the Dentist. Ayala wanted me for a job because I was small, could get into the tight spaces. I did what he wanted but that was before I knew what he was really like. When I found out, I took my cut and went to ground."_ _

__"Do you think you'd recognize him now?" Peter asked._ _

__It was almost funny how Moz looked at him - would have been if not for the obvious fear in his eyes. "Oh no. No," he said, shaking his head. "If he finds out I ratted on him..."_ _

__Peter said nothing, just brought his hand down in front of him, leaving his chair apparently empty._ _

__"He'll never even know you're there," Neal said. "Remember Glen Cove? So unless Ayala has thermal imaging equipment, he won't know."_ _

__"All we need is confirmation of who he is," Peter said, reappearing. "So unless he's like Woodford, you won't have to worry once we get him."_ _

__Moz shook his head. "he's not," he said. "Because he never gave anyone a chance to betray him."_ _

__"I can keep your involvement out of it," Peter said. "Anonymous tip, anonymous identification. If he's as ruthless as you say, there must be dozens of people who want him off the streets...family members, loved ones, others in the life. It would make the streets a lot safer for everyone."_ _

__"You present a good argument, Suit," Moz said. "But I need time to think about it."_ _

__Peter just nodded, knowing not to push, knowing if he did, Moz would just dig his heels in and he'd lose his best chance to catch Ayala. "As long as you need," he said. "If you decide not to, we'll just figure out another way. All we need is to be able to tie him to just one crime and we've got him."_ _

__"Any idea what he has in the works?" Neal asked._ _

__"No, only that it's big," Moz said. "Could be MoMA, could be the Federal Reserve."_ _

__"You'll let us know if you find out?" Peter asked._ _

__"You'll know what I know," Moz said._ _

__Peter gave him a nod. "Just do what you do best. Keep your head down, stay safe."_ _

__

__A few weeks later, Moz came to them with news - Ayala was planning to hit one of the most exclusive jewelry shops in the city - Gabrielle's. It was so exclusive one needed an invite to shop there._ _

__"Are you sure it's him?" Peter asked._ _

__"According to the chatter I heard," Moz said._ _

__"He didn't approach you?"_ _

__Moz shook his head. "I doubt he remembers me," he said. "I _hope_ he doesn't remember me I was just a kid the only time I worked for him."_ _

__"Are you willing to identify him for us?" Peter asked._ _

__Moz appeared to think it over, looking between Neal and Peter. "I'd be able to see with this...invisibility cloak?" he asked Neal._ _

__"As well as you do now," Neal said. "But _he_ won't be able to see _you_ No one will. But you will have to be quiet. It has no effect on sound."_ _

__"No pressure, Moz," Peter said. "but even if he discovers us, I can still protect you."_ _

__"He stopped a bullet dead in its tracks once," Neal said._ _

__"Not with Corman," Moz said and saw Peter wince, immediately sorry he brought it up._ _

__"Corman surprised us," Neal said. "And he was too close. He was what? Not even ten feet away."_ _

__"If Ayala discovers us, I'll freeze him as soon as he draws a weapon," Peter said evenly. "But as long as we're quiet, he won't suspect a thing."_ _

__"How big is his crew, do you know?' Neal asked._ _

__"Well, him, one to bypass the alarm, one to take care of the cameras and one for the safe," Moz said. "So, four, maybe five."_ _

__"No multitaskers," Neal said. "You and I did something similar with just three." He glanced at Peter, a smile touching his mouth at the raised brows. "Past the statute of limitations."_ _

__Peter rolled his eyes, letting the revelation pass, knowing Neal wouldn't have said anything if it hadn't been safe for him to do so. "Well, the more people involved, the more likely someone will slip," he said._ _

__"No one 'slips' if they're on Ayala's crew," Moz said. "Not if they know what's good for them."_ _

__Peter gave him a nod, remembering what they'd been told. "Any idea when or is it still in the planning stages?"_ _

__"Last I heard, he needed to find someone who could crack the safe," Moz said. "And unfortunately, your name came up."_ _

__Neal sat back in his chair, looking a little stunned, a little anxious and more than a little concerned. "Mine? From who?"_ _

__"I don't know how he gets his intel or from who," Moz said. "but it's obviously out of date. Whoever told him of your skill doesn't know you're out of the life and working with the Feds."_ _

__"That safe is state of the art," Neal said. "Even if I was inclined, I'd need weeks with the schematics and more time to practice. It's not like I can listen for the tumblers. It's three separate combinations that allow for just one mistake. If two are made, it's locked down tighter than Fort Knox until the override is entered."_ _

__"And the override is a rolling code," Moz said._ _

__"If it's that sophisticated then how does he expect anyone to crack it?" Peter asked. The answer came to him at the same time as it did to Neal and Moz. "Inside man," he said. "It would have to be the manager."_ _

__"Then why would he need someone to crack it?" Moz asked._ _

__"If it's the manager's idea to have the store robbed, he or she wouldn't want to be anywhere near it when it goes down," Neal said. "They'd have an alibi."_ _

__"So the safecracker would be supplied with the combinations and the override, just in case," Peter said. "Still want in?"_ _

__Years earlier, Neal would have jumped at the chance but he wasn't the brash young thief he had been. He found he could live without the high, the adrenaline rush of a successful heist. Catching the bad guys and putting them away was enough. Plus, his reflexes were slower even if his mind wasn't. "If I'm approached of course I'm in," he said. "From what Moz told us, it's not like I'll have a choice."_ _

__"How paranoid is this guy? Would he check for wires or bugs?" Peter asked._ _

__"Forget the watch," Moz said. "He'd spot a fake."_ _

__"There goes that idea," Neal said._ _

__"I'd have to be with you," Peter said. "And he probably wouldn't approach you if I was."_ _

__"He wouldn't," Moz said._ _

__"We're getting ahead of ourselves here," Peter said after a pause. "No guarantee Ayala will approach you, especially if we're right about the manager being in on it. Those codes could be given to whoever Ayala recruits."_ _

__"Surveillance on the store and the manager?" Neal asked._ _

__"We'd need enough to justify it," Peter said. "And unfortunately, hearsay from an informant, regardless of how reliable they are, wouldn't be enough."_ _

__"So we look into the manager," Neal said. "All the employees. The codes could be somewhere in the manager's office, probably in a separate safe along with the fob that has the override."_ _

__"Looked at that way, he wouldn't need an insider," Peter said._ _

__"Someone to crack _a_ safe, not _the_ safe," Moz said._ _

__"Still want me to agree if I'm approached?' Neal asked._ _

__"Like you said, you won't have a choice," Peter said. "But at least I can be there to make sure you stay safe."_ _

__

__Neal was sitting in the cafe he and Peter usually went to for lunch but without his partner since Peter had paperwork to fill out that couldn't wait...at least that's what Peter had said. He hada told Neal to go ahead and he'd join him if he could. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man that fit Ayala's general description regarding him but gave no indication he'd noticed._ _

__"Neal Caffrey," the man said, taking a seat uninvited._ _

__"Excuse me?" Neal said with just the right amount of confusion. "Have we met?"_ _

__"No, but I know your reputation," the man said. "Quite the criminal Renaissance man - thief, forger, conman..."_ _

__"I've had my moments," Neal said._ _

__"I have a proposition for you if you're interested," the man said._ _

__"I'm listening."_ _

__"How'd you like a cut of roughly fifty million in diamonds and other gemstones?"_ _

__"Assuming I am, what's the job and what's my part?"_ _

__"I'm in need of a safecracker," the man said. "I hear your the best."_ _

__"Depends on the safe and how much time I have," Neal said._ _

__"A Kreutzner 5650, second generation."_ _

__"I think I can handle that," Neal said. "When and where?" He saw Peter approach and gave a minute shake of his head, relieved when his partner continued walking past._ _

__"Gabrielle's in the Diamond District," the man said. "Ever hear of it?"_ _

__"Of course," Neal said. "Exclusive."_ _

__The man jotted down an address and slid the paper across the table. "We meet there in two days, after closing. The alarms and cameras will be offline by the time we get there. You go in, crack the safe in the office and get the codes inside. You give them to me and we clean out the main safe."_ _

__"How many in the crew?"_ _

__"You, me and two others."_ _

__"Twelve point five each," Neal said. "Not bad."_ _

__"My crew, I decide the split."_ _

__"That big a score, I don't do it for less than fifteen," Neal said. "Like you said, I'm the best. You want me, you pay me what I'm worth or find someone else."_ _

__"I could, you know," the man said, leaning back._ _

__"Then why ask me? Why ask the best if you're willing to settle for someone else?_ _

__"I will if I have to but I know with you on the safe, our time will be cut down. And you know how to keep your mouth shut."_ _

__Neal gave him a nod. "I'll see you in two days," he said._ _

__Neal watched as the man - Ayala, he was sure - went on his way, knowing Peter would wait until the coast was clear before he joined him._ _

__"So tell me," Peter said, sliding into the chair about five minutes later. So Neal told him everything, from Ayala's approach to the discussion of terms and where and when they'd hit._ _

__"So it _is_ Gabrielle's," Peter said thoughtfully. "You think it was Ayala?"_ _

__"It fits with what Moz told us," Neal said. "he said it was big and considering how exclusive Gabrielle's is, the pieces would be worth more on the market. He said fifty mil so I'm thinking that's what they'll bring." He sat back. "Think Moz would be willing?"_ _

__"We can ask," Peter said. "Even if it's not Ayala, we can still grab whoever it is."_ _

__"We wouldn't happen to have a sample of his handwriting, would we?"_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__Neal removed the slip of paper he'd been given from his pocket and showed it to Peter. "Time and place," he said. "And honestly, I'm kind of insulted. He said he knew my reputation but thought it necessary to give me a reminder."_ _

__"Maybe it's just your reputation and the results you had," Peter said. "Not your process. He didn't assume anything."_ _

__"Fair point," Neal said. "So, next we talk to Moz. We have two days to convince him."_ _

__"Think you could?" Peter asked. "I told him I wouldn't push and I won't. Plus there's the fact that you've known him longer. He trusts you more."_ _

__"He trusts you too," Neal said._ _

__"You're his oldest friend, Neal," Peter said. "And yes, he trusts me but I'm still an agent."_ _

__"I'll see what I can do."_ _

__

__"Two days?' Moz asked. "That's not much time."_ _

__"I know but that's all we've got," Neal said. He studied his friend a moment. "You know what Peter can do, you know he can protect you, Corman not withstanding."_ _

__Moz drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. He was well aware of what Peter could do with his magic - from the outside. He also knew that he was the only real chance to take Ayala down. A bit reluctantly, he nodded. "What time are you supposed to be there?" he asked._ _

__"The store closes at nine," Neal said. "He wants me there at ten, after the manager finishes up."_ _

__"Have you told the Suit?"_ _

__"I'll fill him in tomorrow," Neal said. "I wanted to know if you were in or out before I said anything." He got up from the table and selected another bottle of wine. "I know you still don't trust Peter completely," he said, refilling their glasses. "And he's okay with that. But you can trust him to keep you safe."_ _

__"But it's Marcus Ayala..."_ _

__"Backing out?" Neal asked. "It's fine if you do. If it's not Ayala that's hitting Gabrielle's then we still get whoever it is."_ _

__Moz frowned a little, started to say something several times but refrained. Neal waited patiently. "What's it like?" he asked "Being invisible?"_ _

__"I didn't feel anything unusual the few times I was," Neal said, taking his seat. "Of course, I almost freaked out the first time. I was expecting to get shot when those smugglers found us but they didn't even see us. And they looked right at us. As long as you're quiet, he won't even know you're there. Like I told you, it has no effect on sound."_ _

__Moz thought a bit more. "I don't suppose he'd let me, you know, take a souvenir?" he asked somewhat hopefully._ _

__Neal huffed out a laugh. "What do you think?_ _

__"But it's _Gabrielle's_...!"_ _

__"I know, Moz but you know Peter," Neal said. "So, you in or out?"_ _

__Moz let out a breath. "Talk to the Suit, tell him I'm in."_ _

__

__"Now remember, not a sound," Peter said in a low voice as he and Moz stood to one side of the main safe after Gabrielle's closed. They'd gotten permission from the owner to remain inside after closing once Peter had explained the situation. The owner had agreed, mostly so he wouldn't have to deal with a store that was shut down for an investigation and the inevitable hassle with the insurance company. He noticed the very...interested looks Moz was giving the safe. "Nothing leaves with us, all right?" he said, knowing what the other man was contemplating._ _

__"Buzzkill," Moz muttered._ _

__They stilled, hearing lockpicks jiggling in the door and Peter placed a finger over his lips. Moments later, two figures dressed in dark clothing entered the showroom, casting about with penlights. Peter felt Moz stiffen when a light played over them and put a comforting hand on his shoulder._ _

__"All right, office is to the left. Get the codes and meet me here."_ _

__The smaller figure - Neal - gave a nod and they parted ways. The other came to a stop in front of the main safe and began studying it closely. Minutes later, Neal joined him, handing him a laminated card and a fob._ _

__"That was quick."_ _

__"Well, you wanted the best," Neal said. "You're not paying me to take my time."_ _

__Peter looked at Moz, silently asking him if he recognized the first man and saw his eyes widen. Moz pointed up, jabbing his finger up at a corner. There was the tell-tale red light of an active camera - pointed right at the vault. By the slight start Neal gave, he'd noticed it too. Peter nudged Moz and they silently made their way to the office to pull the security tapes. With luck, there would be footage of the first man's face. "Can you rearm the alarm?" Peter asked in a low voice._ _

__"Show me where it is," Moz whispered. He looked impressed when Peter showed him. "Very nice but not what I expected for a place like this." He fiddled around a few minutes, reconnecting cut wires and a light blinked on, indicating the alarm was active. "Cops should be on their way once the door's opened."_ _

__Peter nodded and tugged on Moz's sleeve. "Let's go."_ _

__"Can you delay them? And what about Neal?"_ _

__"Don't worry about Neal," Peter said as they made their way to the door. With a somewhat wicked look, he cracked it open._ _

__"Okay. Done. Meet me back at that address I gave you and we'll split the haul."_ _

__"Are the others going to be there?' Neal asked._ _

__"Don't worry about them."_ _

__Suddenly, strobing lights appeared in the window, causing both men to jerk around. "I thought the alarm was off line!" Neal hissed._ _

__"It was supposed to be!"_ _

__"Let's get out of here!"_ _

__As Neal went by the safe as they headed to the back door, he felt something grab his arm. Reflexively he began to struggle until another hand grabbed him. Suddenly he was face to face with Peter and Moz and he stilled._ _

__"Caffrey!"_ _

__"He is going to be so pissed..." Neal said inaudibly. Together, the three of them watched as the ringleader was taken into custody and handcuffed as he insisted he hadn't been the only one there and looking around wildly._ _

__They waited until he was led away and the police were gone before Peter dropped the spell. "So Moz, was it Ayala?" he asked._ _

__"A few decades older but yeah, it's him," Moz said._ _

__"So how'd the cops know?" Neal asked as they left the store._ _

__"I had Moz get the alarm back online," Peter said._ _

__"The the Suit opened the door," Moz said. "Alarm went off and notified the police."_ _

__"You were there the whole time?" Neal asked._ _

__"Owner let us stay after close," Peter said. He held out his hand. "Hand them over."_ _

__Neal started to deny he had anything but a smile touched his mouth and he handed Peter the bag he held. "You know I wasn't going to keep them," he said._ _

__"Just keeping you honest," Peter said. "We'll get the rest from NYPD in the morning."_ _

__

__"I have to admit the experience was...interesting," Moz said a few days later. "Though I had a bit of a start when Ayala's light was on us."_ _

__"Now you know how I felt staring at a couple of guns," Neal said. He relaxed back on the couch. "So, Ayala's off the street," he said. "Funny how that one camera was still working. Your doing?"_ _

__"Not mine," Moz said. "Might have been some kind of failsafe. Smart if you think about it."_ _

__"So, you thought it was interesting," Neal said, a smile touching his mouth._ _

__"It was," Moz said. "Though I admit I wasn't sure what I was expecting."_ _

__"Hey, at least you had some warning," Neal said._ _

__"And I still think he'd have been a legend if he wasn't a Fed," Moz said. He sighed, looking a little wistful. "Kinda wish I could do what he can."_ _

__"Especially the invisibility, right?" Neal said, amused._ _

__"Oh yes," Moz said, eyes lighting up, making Neal laugh. "Being able to just walk in, take what you want and walk out with no one the wiser."_ _

__"Yeah, I told him I"d have liked to have the darkvision," Neal said. "No lights to possibly give me away. How many time did _that_ almost happen?"_ _

__Moz shuddered delicately. "too many," he said._ _

__Neal regarded the other man a moment as they sipped their wine. "You did good, Moz," he said. "And I know Peter appreciates what you did. He knew how...uncomfortable you were."_ _

__"So he owes me one," Moz said._ _

__Neal made an 'Eh' face. "That's between you and him," he said. His mouth quirked in a smile. "Maybe you can get another bottle of wine out of him." His smile turned a little mischievous when he added, "Not so bad, working with the Feds, is it?"_ _

__"I admit it wasn't bad but don't think I'm going to make a habit out of it," Moz said._ _

__

__Peter put the mirror away as Elizabeth handed him a beer, giving her a smile. "I didn't know you could hear with that," she said, sitting beside him._ _

__"I didn't either until I tried," Peter said. "But like I told you, I found out that I don't know everything about what I can do."_ _

__"So, what are our two favorite conmen up to?"_ _

__"The usual," Peter said. "Actually, they were talking about that case we wrapped up a few days ago. Moz actually admitted it wasn't too bad working with the Feds."_ _

__"He wasn't working with the Feds, he was working with _you_ ," Elizabeth said. "He made that distinction during that whole mess with Hamilton and OPR."_ _

__"He hinted that I might owe him one," Peter said. "And, in all honestly, I do. If it hadn't been for his identification, we'd never have been able to tie Ayala to not only a string of robberies but a number of homicides stretching back almost thirty years."_ _

__"He won't have to testify, will he?"_ _

__"I'll try to work it so his deposition is enough. Say that he's a confidential informant who's life will be at risk if he's identified.," Peter said. "But more immediately...care to help me choose a bottle of wine?"_ _

__"Maybe a nice Burgundy this time," Elizabeth said, smiling a bit impishly. She settled back against him on the couch. "You gonna tell them?"_ _

__"I'm allowed some secrets, aren't I?" Peter asked, amused. He sobered. "If it becomes necessary," he said, then before she could ask, the room filled with color and he saw her smile._ _


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes undercover at a trendy club and gets to show off his magic.

Peter waited until the team was seated at the conference room table before handing out their newest case. "We've gotten a tip from a credible source that a local club is being used as a front for a money laundering operation," he said as the others looked through the file. "And indications are it's getting ready to expand."

"Which club?" Neal asked.

"Club Merlin," Peter said. "It's been getting a lot of buzz lately, turning into a major hot spot."

"I've heard of that place," Kelsey said. "No chance of _us_ getting in..."

"Yeah, a bit too trendy for us," Jones remarked, causing a few chuckles.

"So how do we shut them down?" Neal asked.

"Fortunately for us, they're looking for entertainment," Peter said.

"What kind?"

"Any kind. Singers, stand-up, musicians, that sort of thing," Peter said.

"Magic?" Neal asked.

"Are you volunteering?" Peter asked in return. "You're a pretty good magician and I've heard you sing."

Neal leaned back. "I might be able to come up with an act," he said. "When are the auditions?"

"Next week," Peter said. "Anyone else want to try their hand?"

"What about you, Peter?" Neal asked.

"Maybe," Peter said, causing some surprised looks. "Hey, I'm not _completely_ talentless..."

"Well, you do have a knack for catching the bad guys," Callahan said.

"Not just me," Peter said. "Anyway, we'll talk to the manager, see if we can get a few people on the inside as staff, find out where the money's coming from and where it's going, who's involved, how big it is. But first, we dig into the financials of the employees and the club itself."

Neal stayed behind once everyone filed out and followed Peter into his office. Taking a seat in the visitor's chair, he said, "You could do a magic act, you know."

"I don't think mine would translate well," Peter said, taking his own seat.

"Sure it would," Neal said. "You just need to build an act around it."

"You think I could?" Peter asked curiously.

"Yeah, I do," Neal said. "I know you don't want people to know but everyone will think it's just a trick anyway. No one will _believe_ it's real and no one will ask how you do it. Even if they do, you can always use the magician's code."

"Never tell how you do a trick," Peter said. He sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I'm really not one to perform."

"You do every time you go undercover," Neal said. "The only difference is they'll know you're fooling them. They'll be expecting it." He smiled. "Come on, Peter. I'll help you. I'll even be your lovely assistant."

Peter chuckled. "I could use the help," he said. "But I think Elizabeth would be the better choice as assistant."

Neal cocked his head a little. "Yeah, she _is_ prettier than I am," he admitted. "So, let's get you started..."

"Which ones?"

"The lights...the fire...the invisibility and...the timestop," Neal said. "Your active ones."

 

The rest of the day, they stayed holed up in Peter's office, Neal making suggestions and questioning Peter about the specifics of his abilities until it was quitting time. "Elizabeth is going to love this," Neal said as they left. "You know, some of your act could be close up. Audience participation."

"Make a personal item or a card disappear," Peter said.

"Yeah, like that," Neal agreed. "What would really be neat is if they're holding it when you do."

"They'd still be able to feel it," Peter said as they got into the car.

"Adds to the mystery," Neal said.

 

Elizabeth was already home when they got there and Neal couldn't wait to break the news. "You want _me_ to go undercover with you?' she asked, handing Peter a beer.

"As my assistant," Peter said. "Neal volunteered but..."

"Magicians assistants are usually women," Elizabeth said. "And where would this be?"

"Club Merlin," Neal said, accepting a glass of wine.

"Wow," Elizabeth said, eyes wide.

"We still have to audition," Peter said.

"They'd be stupid not to take you," Elizabeth said, sitting beside him. "So, give me an example."

Peter thought for a moment then passed his hand in front of her wine glass, making it vanish. Once more and it reappeared.

"That was...odd," Elizabeth said. "I knew I was holding it but..." She shook her head, not knowing how to describe what it was like.

"Think they'd like it?" Peter asked.

"Of course," Elizabeth said. She gave him a quick kiss. "I think you're a shoe in," she said. "And you can use your magic and no one will think anything of it."

"We'll have to practice..."

"How long do we have?" Elizabeth asked.

"So, you're in?" Peter asked, whereupon Elizabeth gave him a 'Duh' look.

"Of course," she said.

"Auditions are in a week," Peter said. "Do you think you can get away?"

"We're kind of slow right now but I'm sure Yvonne can handle anything that comes up. She's very capable," Elizabeth said.

 

A few days later, Neal let himself into the Brooklyn townhouse to find Elizabeth standing on a ladder, tipped dangerously backward. Before he could warn her, she let go, Peter gestured and she stopped mid air before she hit the floor. Peter calmly walked over and embraced her, setting her on her feet. "Okay...who's idea was this?" he asked once his heart slowed down.

"It was mine," Elizabeth said, patting Peter's shoulder. "I had to talk him into it."

"We practiced most of yesterday," Peter said. "On the bed."

"Grand finale?' Neal guessed.

"Thinking about it," Peter said. "It would definitely be a show stopper."

"It's my idea to go higher," Elizabeth said. "Ten, maybe twelve feet."

"So you've got your act?"

"Most of it," Peter said. "Still have a few kinks to work out...and my patter."

"You won't necessarily need that," Neal said. "Magicians are moving more toward just the act - they don't say much. Just ask for volunteers when you do the close up work."

"Or you could just choose someone," Elizabeth said. "People love being part of the show."

 

As Neal and Elizabeth expected, Peter's audition was a success and he felt more relaxed about showing off his magic, knowing no one would believe it was anything but a trick.

He was hit with an attack of nerves when he was introduced though - it was one thing to 'perform' for the people who knew, something else entirely to put his abilities on display for a room full of strangers.

Peter smoothed down his shirt - silk since Elizabeth had insisted - and checked that the fly on his (rather tight) jeans was closed and took a moment to admire his wife's costume of black beaded halter and short leather skirt before he took her hand and escorted her onstage to a smattering of applause.

The stage was equipped with half a dozen five foot tiki torches, a twenty foot ladder and a low platform.

To start, Peter let his hand fill with flame and tossed a fireball toward each torch, thankful that his pitching ability wasn't that rusty. One by one, the torches lit, filling the stage with thin smoke. With a wide smile, Elizabeth extinguished the torches then took up a deck of cards, tossing them one by one into the air, where they hung much longer than physics could explain. This elicited more than one appreciative gasp from the crowd. More than half the deck was suspended before Peter let them fall to the stage. With a slight bow and a smile, Peter then moved into the audience, zeroing in on an attractive young woman. "And what's your name?"

"Claire," came the somewhat giggly response.

"Claire. That's a very beautiful necklace you're wearing," Peter said. "Almost as beautiful as the woman wearing it." This earned a blush and Peter smiled. "May I?" he asked, gesturing at her jewelry. He stopped her when she began to take it off then passed his hand slowly in front of her.

"Oh my God!" The exclamation came from one of Claire's tablemates when the necklace vanished.

"It's still there. I can feel it," Claire said. She reached up and Peter took her hand, passing both hers and his back across and the necklace reappeared. The applause was louder this time as Peter returned to the stage.

"Now, for those of you who couldn't see, I'll demonstrate with my lovely assistant, Elizabeth," Peter said, helping her onto the platform.

Elizabeth posed, flourishing her hands and raised a cloth barrier up over her head. Peter made a bigger production than necessary, his gestures grander - Neal had told him showmanship was essential - then pulled the cloth down, showing an empty platform. After a brief bow, Peter climbed up, lifted the cloth and dropped it a few seconds later and Elizabeth took her own bow. After exchanging a look, they dropped from the platform and Elizabeth mounted the ladder.

Despite the hours of practice, despite his faith in his abilities, Peter was nervous as he watched her climb to the top. With the telepathy she'd shown throughout their marriage, Elizabeth glanced back and down and gave him a nod and a smile, the trust in her eyes humbling.

Intellectually, Peter knew that the higher she went, the more time he had but that didn't banish the butterflies migrating in his stomach. He was thrown somewhat when Elizabeth turned around, her hands behind her gripping the ladder. He recovered quickly and gave her a slight nod. Less than a second later, she was suspended in mid air, five feet from the stage. Peter barely heard the horrified gasp that turned into a relieved sigh as he helped her down to her feet, unable to stop the smile at the excited gleam in her eyes. "You're enjoying this," he said.

"Of course I am, hon," Elizabeth said.

They turned to the audience and gave a deep bow to thunderous applause then left the stage.

"That was...wow," Neal said when they were backstage, eyes wide in appreciation...and a little incredulity. "I mean, I knew and all but...wow."

"Look at that, hon, Neal Caffrey at a loss for words," Elizabeth said impishly.

Jones came up then. "Great show, Peter," he said, grinning when Peter started.

"Who else is here?" Peter asked.

Jones shrugged nonchalantly. "You don't think anyone would miss this, do you?"

"The whole team is here?"

"Most of us," Jones said. "Blake complained about not seeing much since he's stuck on drinks duty."

"Tell me you found something," Peter said.

"We found indications that a few of the hostesses and at least one cashier are cleaning the money coming in."

"Any idea where it's coming from?"

"A few regulars," Jones said. "Big spenders. They drop a few grand every visit, come three for four nights a week."

"Names?"

"Working on it," Jones said. "Which means you may have to do a few more shows. You up for it?"

"Do I have a choice?" Peter asked dryly. "But yeah, I can handle it. Got through this first one okay."

"Okay? Peter that was...amazing," Jones said. "How'd you do it?"

"You know I can't tell," Peter said a bit impishly.

"Ah yes, the magicians code," Jones said. "Sorry I asked."

"So, we check out the hostesses and the cashiers," Peter said. "Check the bank as well. They have to have a business account to deposit the money. And find the names of those regulars."

"First thing tomorrow," Jones said.

 

It took almost another week - and more shows - to wrap up the case. Word had spread about Peter's act and the manager was over the moon at the packed house and she tried - unsuccessfully - to sign Peter to a contract. "Then how about your frined? The handsome one?" she asked. "I've never heard a voice like his. You think he'd be interested? I could make him a headliner."

"You could ask," Peter said, privately doubting that Neal would accept...but Neal had surprised him before.

In the end, they arrested the big spending regulars, one cashier and the bank manager. The hostesses implicated were proven innocent - they handn't known the money was dirty.

 

"So, you turned her down," Peter said after they finished the initial paperwork.

Neal shrugged. "I like the job I have now," he said. "But I did say I'd consider doing a show now and then."

"Let me know if you do," Peter said. "El and I would love to see."

"So, how'd it feel? Showing off your magic?"

Peter considered the question for a minute before answering. "It felt...good," he said. "I was more okay with it than I thought I'd be. You know how close I need to keep it."

"But as magic..." Neal used air quotes around the word. "People don't look past the surface. No reason for them to think it's real. To them, it was a very convincing illusion."

"You know, Elizabeth is still excited about it," Peter said, smiling a little. "Like, ten times more than she was about the Larsen sting."

"Probably because she had a central role this time," Neal said. "She had an integral part to play." He stood. "Well, I've got reports to write and file then a stack of cold cases," he said. At the door, he added, "By the way, the manager said you're welcome to perform any time...if you're interested."

"I'll think about it," Peter said dryly.

Neal turned, leaning against the door frame. "Even after all this time, you can still surprise me," he said. "I never knew you were such a showman."

Peter gave him a slightly impish smile. "You continue to underestimate me," he said.

"You'd think I'd have learned by now," Neal said, amused.

"You'd think," Peter said.

Neal suddenly brightened. "Hey, this could be a second career for you," he said. "Moonlighting as a magician, performing to sell out crowds all over the country...no, the _world_..."

"Neal..."

"Yes, Peter?"

"Don't you have reports to write?"

"Not interested, huh?"

"Like you, I enjoy the job I have," Peter said. "Although..."

"Every once in a while?"

"I'll even let you be my lovely assistant," Peter said. "Providing you can talk Elizabeth into letting you." He waited until Neal was half out of the office before he added, "And I promise not to let you hit the floor...too many times."

"You know," Neal said thoughtfully, turning back. "I think I'll let Elizabeth keep the job."

"Always knew you were smart," Peter said, turning back to his own reports.

"Too bad you don't have anything to do the reports," Neal said.

"But I do," Peter said. "And so do you. It's called a pen...and a computer. So go, work your own magic...and no conning a probie."

"Buzzkill," Neal muttered good naturedly as he left.

Peter smiled, picked up a pen and began filling out his own reports, knowing Neal would do the same. And he wouldn't even have to scry to check.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's sick...and interesting thing start to happen

Elizabeth knew something was wrong when she was awakened by Peter tossing and turning. Normally he slept like a log, hardly moving during the night. Next, she noticed the heat rolling off him and reached across to turn on the lamp. Propping herself up, she gently shook his shoulder. Her concern grew when he opened his eyes, glassy with fever.

Sliding out of bed, she headed to the bathroom for ibuprophen, a thermometer, a glass of water and a cold, damp cloth. "Here, sit up," she said softly, setting the supplies on the table. With some help, he managed it and Elizabeth stacked pillows behind him. She slid the thermometer into his mouth and sponged the sweat beading on his forehead as she waited for the beep. As he reached for it, she jerked back when his hands were engulfed in flames, scorching the sheet. She put that out of mind and retrieved the thermometer, reading the result - 102.2. High but not enough to warrant a visit to the emergency room. Setting it aside, she shook out a couple of pulls. "Here. They'll help with the fever," she said, waiting for him to take them, helping him with the glass. She startled a little when it disappeared and water sloshed over her hand, wetting the sheet. Other things began flickering, disappearing and reappearing in rapid succession - the lamp, his clock, the pillows, thermometer, even the bedside table. Interspersed with all that, his hands randomly caught fire, scorching the sheets even more.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, his voice a scratchy whisper. This led to a coughing fit that had him doubled over and breathless when it passed. All the while, Elizabeth rubbed his back comfortingly.

She checked the cloth, finding it almost dry and tossed it on the bedtable, seeing it stop halfway for a few seconds before falling to the floor. "I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? I'm going to get more water." She waited until Peter nodded weakly then stood, brushing a kiss across his cheek. She grabbed the glass and went downstairs to the kitchen, filling the glass and a bowl with cold water before returning upstairs. As she reached the top, she saw colored lights spilling out into the hall, followed by a blinding white that blinked out like someone had flipped a switch. Setting glass and bowl on the table - which promptly vanished - she retrieved the cloth, dampened it and laid it across his forehead.

"I'm sorry," Peter said on a sigh.

"For what, hon?"

"My magic..." He went into another coughing fit which was mercifully shorter than the last one. "I can't...can't control it."

"It's okay, hon," Elizabeth said softly. "Not your fault."

"But I..."

"You're not feeling well," Elizabeth said. "It'll straighten out when you're better."

"I feel terrible," Peter said, suppressing a cough then fisted his hands when flames appeared. He let his head fall back with a groan and the cough worked its way up and out, leaving him exhausted when he finished.

"Try to rest," Elizabeth said, wetting the cloth again. She wiped his face then laid it over his eyes, thankful when the table reappeared. She usually enjoyed seeing his magic but this was more than a little unnerving.

She felt relieved when he fell into a deep sleep even though things continued to randomly vanish then reappear seconds, sometimes minutes later.

A few hours later, she reluctantly woke him to take his temperature again - it still hovered around 102 - and gave him more pills.

 

Sometime around dawn, when Peter was once more asleep, she went downstairs to start the coffee, knowing she was up for the day. As the coffee brewed, she fixed herself a light breakfast, removing some soup from the freezer to thaw just in case Peter felt up to eating later. Coffee done, she took it and her breakfast upstairs so she could keep an eye on Peter. She found him still asleep but still a little restless from the fever and more scorch marks on the bedding. She sighed. She rather liked those sheets but admitted that they were getting a little threadbare.

Breakfast eaten and dishes in the sink, she woke Peter again to take his temperature, her heart thudding when it showed almost a degree higher and she knew she needed help. Silently asking forgiveness, she got her phone and dialed Neal.

"Hello?" came the sleepy answer.

"Neal, I am so sorry but I need your help," Elizabeth said, sponging Peter's face and trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

"Why? What's wrong?" Neal asked, sounding more awake.

"It's Peter. He's sick, running a fever..."

"What about the emergency room?"

"I can't...his magic is going...wonky...haywire. The sheets are scorched, things keep disappearing...Please..."

"I'll be over as soon as I can."

As soon as she hung up, she pulled the covers down and efficiently stripped Peter to his boxers, wiping his entire body down with the cold cloth in an effort to bring his temperature down.

 

When Neal got the the house in Brooklyn, he let himself in rather than knock. Satchmo whined softly and Neal let him out into the back yard. As he turned toward the stairs, he saw a flash of intense white light followed by the sound of a body slumping to the floor and the ring of something metal hitting the hardwood. "Elizabeth!" he called, taking the stairs two at a time. He stopped short at the bedroom door, seeing Elizabeth unconscious by the bed, a pool of water spreading around her. "Elizabeth," he breathed, scooping her up. Rather than make the trek downstairs, he took her to the guestroom and gently laid her on the bed, hoping she'd wake soon. Until then, Peter needed his help.

"Hey Peter," he said softly. "Let's see if we can get you cooled down, okay?"

"N-Neal? Where's...?"

"She's resting," Neal said, helping the other man sit up, hissing slightly at the heat coming of his partner. "Can you stand?"

"Need some help..."

Neal put Peter's arm across his shoulders and helped him stand, steadying him when he swayed and doing his best to ignore the way things were flickering, vanishing and reappearing. It was...disconcerting. Slowly, they made their way to the bathroom and Neal grit his teeth and held on when flames licked around Peter's fingers.

"Sorry," Peter murmured.

"It's okay. Barely stings," Neal said, sitting him on the closed lid of the toilet. After making sure Peter was fairly steady, he turned on the shower - cold - instantly realizing he'd have to join the other man to keep him upright. Stifling a sigh, he stripped down to his boxer briefs and helped the other man into the shower, holding him close as the water ran over them.

"Neal? Why are we in the shower?"

"To get you cooled off," Neal said, beginning to shiver. "You're a damned oven right now." He saw the various bottles, the soap and Peter's shaver disappear briefly and hoped it was a sign that his temperature was dropping back toward normal. Finally, Peter gave a sigh and took a little more of his weight. He was still unsteady so Neal stayed with him, feeling the heat dissipate. Flames still flickered briefly but were quickly doused and Neal found it very surreal when the water stopped mid-flow for a few seconds.

Peter leaned his head back, letting the water flow over his face and brought a hand up to wipe it away. When he looked at Neal, his eyes were clearer, his face less flushed.

"Better?" Neal asked.

"Yeah."

Neal reached around and shut off the water then helped Peter towel off, noting the marked drop in temperature. He toweled himself dry then helped Peter back to the bedroom, seeing the scorched sheets and sat Peter down in the chair next to the bed. "Want me to change these?" he asked.

"No, leave them," Peter said then sighed. "El's gonna kill me."

"I doubt it," Neal said, helping him back into bed. "She'll be happy you didn't torch the bed." He grabbed the thermometer from the table. "Now, let's see how you're doing."

"You don't have to..."

"Elizabeth will kill _me_ if I don't," Neal said, putting the thermometer in Peter's mouth. "And I don't mind."

While waiting for the beep, Neal returned to the bathroom to get dressed and grabbed a towel to mop up the spill. The beep sounded and he read the result - 100.6. "Much better," he said. "Feel up to eating something? I'm sure Elizabeth has soup, maybe broth..."

"Neal..."

"I told you, I don't mind," Neal said.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Now, unless you want me to get Elizabeth on your case..."

Peter gave a resigned sigh then a grateful smile. "Thank you," he said.

"Just part of having your back," Neal said. "Back in a bit."

Before going downstairs, he went to check on Elizabeth, thankful when he saw her stir and open her eyes. "Neal?" she asked faintly.

"Welcome back."

"What happened?" she asked, sitting up.

"I think you got caught when Peter...went off," Neal said. "The light."

At the mention of Peter, Elizabeth scrambled off the bed. "Peter...how is he? Is he okay?"

"He's better," Neal said soothingly. "I got him into the shower, got him cooled off. His temperature is way down. I was just going to get him something to eat."

"How long was I out?" Elizabeth asked.

"Half an hour or so," Neal said.

"And how long have you been here?"

"Half an hour or so. I got here just as Peter let loose."

"Don't tell him," Elizabeth said. "He'd never forgive himself."

"He was feverish."

"I know that and you know that but it won't make a difference to him," Elizabeth said. "now, if you'll keep him company, I'll get him some soup. I set some out early this morning, just in case."

"How early?"

"I don't know...four or five o'clock, I think," Elizabeth said uncertainly.

"Too early," Neal said, giving her a gentle push toward the master bedroom. "You rest. I'll get it." He saw her objection before she voiced it. "I'm here to help," he said. "This is part of it. You're tired despite being knocked out. Now go."

Elizabeth gave him a rueful smile and capitulated. "Thank you, sweety," she said softly. "I owe you one."

"Repay me with a gourmet meal some day," Neal said as they parted at the stairs.

He found the soup Elizabeth had set out to thaw and quickly heated up two bowls, figuring if she hadn't had time to sleep then she hadn't had time to eat either. He located a tray and set the soup, a glass of water and a glass of orange juice along with some crackers on it and carried it upstairs. A smile touched his mouth when he entered the bedroom to find Elizabeth curled up next to Peter, sound asleep. Setting the tray across Peter's lap, he picked up the thermometer. "Let's see how you're doing," he said.

Peter huffed out a breath but submitted, opening his mouth. He looked over at Elizabeth then raised his brows in a question.

"She told me she's been up since before dawn," Neal said and saw Peter's slightly guilty expression. "She was worried about you." The thermometer beeped and he read the result - 99.6. "Almost back to normal," he said. "A day or two of rest, you'll be good as new. Now eat, you need your strength."

"Was it bad?" Peter asked. "I mean, I know I ruined the sheets, possibly the mattress..."

Neal thought for a moment then said, "It was...unnerving, watching things randomly disappear, not knowing when they'd come back."

"Did I burn you?"

"Singed a little," Neal said. "Nothing to worry about."

"Let me see."

With a sigh, Neal pulled up the sleeve of his polo shirt and showed him the faint redness on his upper arm. "It's nothing," he said. "It'll be gone by the end of the day. Besides, I think your magic has had enough of a workout for one day."

Peter had finished about half the soup and a few of the crackers when his face was split by a huge yawn and Neal removed the tray. Setting it aside, he removed a few of the pillows - slipping one gently under Elizabeth's head - and helped Peter scoot down so he could lay flat. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything," he said.

He set Elizabeth's food aside and quickly washed the remaining dishes before settling on the couch and turning the T.V. on low. Though it had been somewhat tiring for him - and how much more so for Elizabeth? - he understood why it had been impossible for her to take Peter to the hospital. There was just no plausible explanation for the odd occurances happening while Peter had no real control of his magic - not unless they wanted his secret generally known. He didn't need Mozzie's level of paranoia to imagine the nightmare scenarios if that happened. He'd lose his best friend, Elizabeth would lose her husband and the Bureau would lose one of the best agents working to some secret, underground lab as they tried to discover just what Peter Burke was and use him for their own ends.

 

He didn't know when he nodded off but the next thing he knew, Elizabeth was shaking him gently. "Hey. Everything okay?" he asked sleepily, sitting up. Outside, the sky was darkening toward evening.

"Everything's fine," Elizabeth said. "Peter's asleep and his fever's almost gone. I just wanted to tell you I've made us some dinner if you're hungry."

"Starved, actually," Neal said. He looked closely at her. "And how are _you_ doing?"

"Better. Not as worried." She bit her lip. "I really can't thank you enough for your help today. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"I was happy to help," Neal said. "I'm glad you called."

 

After dinner, Elizabeth offered Neal the guest room, finding him a pair of Peter's old sleep pants. As he changed, he heard faint laughter coming from the master bedroom and from the corner of his eye, saw muted colors spill through the door into the hall. He felt that last of the tension leave him - tension he hadn't realized he held - knowing that if Peter was entertaining Elizabeth with his magic then he was not only feeling much better, his magic was once more under control.

 

The next morning, Peter ventured downstairs, still a little shaky and pale but nothing like the previous day.

"Feeling better, I see," Neal said as Peter took a seat at the table across from him 

"Much better," Peter said. "How's your arm?"

"Not a mark," Neal said then paused when he saw Peter's hesitant, uncomfortable expression and waited patiently as he sipped his coffee.

"About yesterday...the shower..."

"It was necessary," Neal said, stopping what he knew was the beginning of an apology. "You were too weak to manage by yourself. I wasn't going to risk you collapsing, possibly hurting yourself, _probably_ hurting yourself."

"And El?"

"I told you, she was resting."

"I remember the flash," Peter said. "I know she was in the room and I know what it does at that intensity."

"She doesn't blame you," Neal said. "She knows you weren't in control at the time. She just got a little bump on the head and a bit wet when she dropped the water. That's all."

Peter studied him a moment, gauging his sincerity then nodded, relaxing. "I just don't want it to get weird with us," he said, getting up carefully to get his own coffee.

"I won't let it if you don't," Neal said. "I was just helping out a friend. Two friends." He paused, purely for effect. "But I may not be able to help the stray fantasy or two." He grinned into his cup when he heard Peter's hit the counter.

"Neal...!"

"Hey, I"m a red blooded male and you're not bad looking, Peter," Neal said off handedly, stifling a laugh when he saw Peter's comically dismayed expression. His smile softened. "See? Not weird," he said. "You and Elizabeth needed help and I'm glad I could. Yeah, it got a little...intimate but it was necessary like I said. You're still my partner, my friend, nothing more."

Peter reseated himself and leaned back. "Thanks," he said. "I _do_ appreciate what you did. I know it's not what you signed up for. It's not what Elizabeth signed up for."

"In sickness and in health," Neal said. "It's just...odd things happen when you're sick. As for me..." He shrugged. "Not the strangest situation we've been in." He sat back, mirroring Peter's posture. "I din't see anything more than I did in Glen Cove and I don't read any more into it. Neither of us were in a position to do anything about it even if we were so inclined...which I'm not, in case you're wondering."

"Never thought you were," Peter said. "Just do me a favor and keep the teasing to a minimum, will you?"

Neal grinned. "I'll try," he said. "But no promises." He feigned fear when Peter raised a hand and looked at him threateningly. "Okay, okay. No teasing. Promise."

"Always knew you were smart," Peter said with a slight smirk.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter discovers a new ability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will focus on Peter's newly discovered ability but others will make an appearance.

Peter gazed into the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth, his thoughts on nothing in particular - the current case, Elizabeth, Neal - when he noticed something...odd. He stopped, frowning a little as he peered closely at his reflection. It took a minute but he noticed that his nose was different. It looked more like...Elizabeth's. He jerked back a little and his face resumed its familiar features.

After rinsing his mouth, he braced his hands on the sink, his mind ticking over what had happened. He knew he wasn't imagining things - his nose _had_ looked more like Elizabeth's. He knew because he'd seen that nose almost every day for close to seventeen years. Always curious, he decided to experiment and, after glancing at the door to make sure it was closed, he once more gazed at his reflection, concentrating on the memory of his wife's face. Slowly, incrementally, his face took on Elizabeth's features until she looked back at him. He also noticed he had shrunk several inches. It was a little disorienting. He was startled back to his surroundings - and his normal appearance - when a knock came at the door.

"Hon? You okay in there? You're not sick again, are you?"

Peter opened the door to Elizabeth's slightly worried expression. "I'm fine," he said. "Just thinking."

"Well, after what happened while you were sick..."

"Have things been disappearing again?"

"Not that I've noticed," Elizabeth said as she accompanied him back to the bedroom so he could finish dressing. "I was just...concerned."

"I promise, I'll let you know if I'm not feeling well," Peter said, knotting a tie around his neck. "I know it was hard on you."

"Not hard, exactly," Elizabeth said, straightening his tie. "Just...unexpected." She smiled somewhat impishly. "It wasn't _all_ bad," she said. "I got to go shopping afterward."

Peter chuckled. "Always a silver lining," he said then sobered. "And I'm sorry you got caught."

Elizabeth's expression softened. "Not your fault, hon," she said. "You were sick and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

 

As he drove to the office, his mind was once more on what had occurred in the bathroom. If he was right - and his gut said he was - he'd discovered another ability to add to his rather unusual arsenal. The trick would be to gain control of it. The question was whether or not to tell those in the know. He decided to hold off for the time being. Right now, he needed to focus on work. But it remained in the back of his mind even as he traced money from corporate accounts to private ones off shore.

"Need I tell you I'm bored?" Neal asked, dropping into the visitor's chair. "It's been nonstop fraud and scams for a month."

"You know it gets that way sometimes," Peter said. "It's not all art or jewelry heists or cons." He leaned back with a sigh. "But yeah, it's been slow...boring." He regarded his partner a moment. "Your former associates are being remarkably quiet," he said a little teasingly.

"Or maybe they're just better at covering their tracks," Neal said. "Now, if _I_ was still out there..."

"How many times did I catch you?" Peter asked, brows raised, mouth twitching in a smile.

"No need to rub it in," Neal said. "Gloating is beneath you, Peter."

"Not gloating, just reminding you," Peter said. He let out a breath. "But I'll admit you did make my job more interesting during the chase." At Neal's pleased look, he added, "Not to mention more aggravating."

"I'll concede your point," Neal said. "But it does nothing for my state of boredom."

"Well, it's late enough," Peter said. "Go ahead and knock off. Go find something to do...that's _legal_. Plan a heist with Moz, paint something, a reproduction maybe."

"Seriously?"

"Unless you want to keep wading through mortgage fraud or embezzlement," Peter said.

Neal was on his feet almost before Peter finished speaking. "I'll see you tomorrow then unless something comes up...wait, isn't Elizabeth out of town tonight?"

"No, she leaves tomorrow," Peter said. "Tonight she's having a girls' night out."

"Want some company?"

"Moz?"

"Off doing something it's probably better we don't know about," Neal said.

"Illegal?"

Neal shrugged. "Possibly," he said. 'Can't say for sure. Despite how long we've known each other, he doesn't tell me everything."

Peter gave him a nod. "Thanks for the offer," he said. "But I'm probably going to just kick back and watch the game. I know that doesn't interest you much."

"No, you're going to take a stack of casefiles home and go through them while you listen to the game," Neal said, leaning against the desk. "I know you, Peter."

"Not this time," Peter said. "I have something to look into...that's _not_ work related."

"Care to share?" Neal asked interestedly.

"Not right now," Peter said. "I'll let you know if it pans out though."

 

He got home not long before Elizabeth left for her night out and she informed him that dinner was in the fridge as she finished getting ready. "I'll be fine, hon," Peter said. "I'll call if I need anything. So go, have fun...just not the kind of fun that will require bail."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes but smiled. "All right," she said. "I'll try not to be too late."

"I'm a big boy. I can be by myself for a few hours," Peter said. "And if I get bored, I'll call Neal."

Once she left, Peter headed up to the bathroom and once more regarded his reflection. This time as he concentrated, he saw his hair get slightly longer and start to curl, his eyes went from brown to blue, his features became more chiseled and his frame became more wiry. Minutes later, Neal Caffrey looked back at him from the mirror. His mouth quirked in a smile. He could have fun with this. He sobered. This wasn't about having fun - any more than his other abilities were.

"So, familiar faces are pretty simple," he said to himself. He shook himself and again saw his own face. He took a deep breath and concentrated. This time, his eyes went from brown to hazel, his hair went blonde and nearly brushed his shoulders, which narrowed. He studied his appearance a moment then narrowed his face, smoothing the skin. Looking down at his hands, the fingers became less blunt. less calloused, slimmer, almost delicate. He briefly considered making himself more feminine but dismissed the idea and went downstairs for his phone. He wanted to be sure his appearance was objective rather than subjective - that he wasn't just seeing things. A minute later, he got his answer - there was the face he'd made himself staring back at him from the phone's screen. Immediately, he realized how useful this new ability could be when undercover. He had no idea where it came from but that was true about the rest of it. But would it interfere with the others? He kept the image of his new face in mind as he tossed the phone toward the couch and watched it stop mid-flight. Retrieving it, he took another picture to be sure his appearance had remained altered. It had. On the heels of that came a realization - he _could_ multitask his abilities, something he hadn't known he could do so therefore hadn't tried. He tapped the phone against his mouth, deep in thought, as he sat down, feeling his features return to normal. As he'd told Elizabeth, he was still learning what he could do with his abilities - his invisibility could be selective if he chose, he could locate things as well as people, his timestop could be applied en mass or pinpoint individual objects, at times multiple items at different times, such as the cards in his brief stint as a magician. Now, he had this new one - the ability to at least temporarily alter his appearance, even his gender. The obvious use of this...talent was undercover. If he could make himself look like anyone, he could avoid any possibility of being made as a Fed. He could, in a sense, become his own CI.

Again, it crossed his mind that he could have fun with it and he couldn't deny the appeal, just as he had with the invisibility - keep Neal or even Moz guessing. Elizabeth...he wasn't going there. At all. If he tried anything with her, he was almost certain he would remain male - at least genetically - but kids would definitely be off the table. Letting out a breath, he set the phone aside and went to fix the dinner Elizabeth had set aside for him then settled in to watch the rest of the game.

 

He'd just gone to bed when he heard the door and Elizabeth come in - the sound of her heels unmistakable - and he set his book aside as he waited for her to come upstairs.

"Oh, you're still awake," Elizabeth said, coming into the bedroom "And no casefiles."

"Not tonight," Peter said. He paused a moment, watching Elizabeth get undressed, admiring her as he always did.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, seeing it.

"Just...appreciating," Peter said with a smile.

"There's something else," Elizabeth said, climbing onto the bed next to him. "So tell me."

Peter had thought long and hard about telling her about his new found ability and in the end, decided he should. They'd always been honest with each other and he remembered his relief when he'd finally told her about his magic. "There is," he said. "Unfortunately, I can't really tell you. I'll have to show you."

"Tell me first then show me," Elizabeth said.

"This morning, I saw something a little odd about my reflection," Peter said then stopped, let out a breath and started over. "I found I have another ability...more magic."

"More than you have now? What is it?"

"I can make myself look...different," Peter said. "A lot different."

Elizabeth regarded him a moment, obviously curious. "Show me," she said.

Peter thought for a moment, summoning an image to mind and felt his face, his body begin to change, all the while watching Elizabeth's expression. Her eyes widened a little when she saw Peter's eyes change to a light blue, his face become narrow, more feminine, his hair to a deep burnished auburn while his strong, sturdy body seemed to shrink and develop generous curves. All in all, she had to admit her husband made a beautiful woman. "El?"

"Wow," Elizabeth breathed. "That's...amazing. Even your voice is different."

"And I found out I can multitask," she...he said, bringing her...his hand up, filling the room with colored lights. "I never thought I could."

"You said yourself, you're still learning," Elizabeth said. She laid a hand on Peter's arm and saw the transformation back into her husband. "So who was that? Who did you turn into?"

"No one I know," Peter said. "Seems all I need is an image of what I want to look like."

"Which implies that you can look like the people you know," Elizabeth said. Her expression turned a little devilish. "So, when are you going to prank Neal?" she asked. "I want to be there when you do."

"Who said I was going to?" Peter asked innocently.

"I know you, hon," Elizabeth said. "So when?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe this weekend? I could still use some practice."

"So how'd you find out?"

"I was brushing my teeth this morning when I noticed I had your nose," Peter said.

"Mine specifically," Elizabeth said and Peter nodded. "And did you become me?"

"Only to see if I could," Peter said. "But I'm not sure if I got everything exactly right." Even though he was sure he did. "Do you want to see?"

Elizabeth considered for a long while. "As curious as I am, I thing I'll pass," she said. "I think it'll be too weird." She pulled down the covers and climbed under them, looking at him a little impishly. "But could you do Neal?"

"You want to be in bed with Neal?" Peter asked, brows raised.

"No, with you _as_ Neal," Elizabeth said. "Come on, show off for me."

It took a few minutes but soon Elizabeth found herself with Neal Caffrey in her bed...at least with Peter who looked like Neal's identical twin. He even had the same Caffrey 1000 watt smile. She shook her head and Peter once more looked like himself.

"You _did_ tell me to show off," Peter said as they lay down and he turned off the light.

"Are you going to tell the others?" Elizabeth asked, settling next to him.

"I'll almost have to tell Neal," Peter said, putting an arm around her. "One thing this will be good for is undercover work, in situations where he might not be safe."

"And Moz?"

"Probably," Peter said. "He hasn't told anyone about the rest."

"Any more surprises?"

"Not that I know," Peter said. "But if I find any, you'll be the first to know."

Peter was alone when he woke - Elizabeth had to get up early early to catch her flight - and he wondered how he'd tell Neal and Moz of this new ability but he knew just springing it on them probably wasn't the best course of action despite the fact it would be fun. As for Elizabeth's suggestion of pranking Neal...he had some ideas. And he'd definitely need her help.

 

"So did it pan out?" Neal asked when he got to the office. "Whatever you were working on yesterday."

"Yeah, it did," Peter said. "Better than I thought it would."

"Gonna tell me?"

"Not right now," Peter said. "...and stop with the puppy dog eyes. I'll tell you later." To his relief, they caught an interesting case later that morning - interesting enough to keep Neal's attention. It involved a possible forgery at the Channing and he noticed Neal's faint smirk when he saw haustenberg's _Young Girl With Locket_ on display. That confirmed what he'd suspected since the curator authenticated it - it wasn't the original, it was a forgery. He stopped to admire it, causing Neal to look at him with a question. "Bring back memories?" Neal asked.

"Quite a few actually," Peter said. "Young Ms. Laszlo, Taryn...practically being mauled by two young women who didn't speak a word of English while you...borrowed the painting. And telling Elizabeth a story she didn't believe for a second."

"I admitted I borrowed it, as you put it," Neal said. "But the painting's back where it belongs so everything turned out all right."

They spoke to the curator - and Neal wisely kept from sniping at him like he had the first time they'd met - who then showed them to the restoration room and the suspect painting. Peter stopped himself from rolling his eyes when the curator kept hovering over Neal as he examined the painting. He could see his partner getting irritated and pulled the man aside. "I know what your opinion of him is," Peter said in a low voice. "He didn't exactly make a good first impression, but I can assure you, he isn't stupid enough to try to steal anything. He's done his time and the last thing he wants is to end up behind bars again. He's not going to jeopardize the life he has now so back off and let him do what he's good at. Crowding him is only going to interfere."

The man did as he was told - grudgingly - but he kept a hawk's eye on Neal as he continued his examination. If Peter noticed he deliberately took longer than necessary, he didn't say anything. Finally, Neal straightened, pulling off the white cotton gloves he wore. "This is very good work," he said. "A masterpiece really. I'd like to meet the forger who did it."

"No signature?" Peter asked.

"Besides the purported artist's? Not that I found," Neal said.

"Perhaps you didn't want to find it," the curator said a bit scathingly. "Or perhaps it's authentic."

To his credit, Neal didn't rise to the bait. "It's definitely not authentic," he said. "And not all forgers sign their work. What tipped me off is the slight hesitation in certain brushstrokes. If one doesn't look as closely as I did, it's a perfect copy."

"Any idea who it could be?" Peter asked.

"No one I know," Neal said. "Whoever it is is good. Almost as good as I am."

"We'll need copies of your personnel files, the security tapes and the names of whoever had access," Peter said, turning to the curator.

"Thank you," Neal said after the man left.

"What for?"

"What you said to him," Neal said. "For standing up for me."

"I know how hard you've worked since I agreed to your deal," Peter said. "You've done good work and I know you wouldn't screw it up for a painting or anything else. He's a curator but you know art - probably better than he does."

The curator returned with the requested materials and, with a last, frosty look at Neal, excused himself. Peter saw the somewhat disturbed expression his partner wore and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't let it bother you," he said. "I know how good you are and so does he. The difference is, I'm willing to admit it."

 

"Are you inviting Neal over for dinner Saturday?" Elizabeth asked when she called that night.

"Why Saturday?"

"We were going to fool him, remember?"

Peter's mouth quirked, hearing the impishness in her tone. "This weekend might not be a good time for that," he said. "We'll invite him but hold off on the big reveal."

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, concerned.

So Peter told her of the curator's behavior while Neal was examining the questionable painting and his reaction after he'd made his determination. "He held his tongue but I could see it bothered him," Peter said with a sigh. "Neal isn't used to people not liking him or questioning his expertise."

"Well I remember meeting the man," Elizabeth said. "Right before...well, you remember. He did come across as rather arrogant, like no one should dare question his word."

"So you didn't like him either," Peter said.

:Not so much," Elizabeth said. "I mean, he knows his business but you know and I know Neal's better." She let out a breath. "Well, enough about him," she said. "I still have a bit of work to get done so I should get to it."

Peter checked his watch, brow furrowed before he remembered it was earlier in the day for her. "All right," he said. "Sorry I spent the entire time griping."

"It's okay hon, really," Elizabeth said. "I care about Neal too, you know and it bothers me that there are some people who hold what he was against him even years later."

"Well, at the time Neal was a bit...full of himself," Peter said. "I think that's what the curator couldn't let go of - having his expertise questioned by a felon."

"Well, we'll treat Neal to a nice home cooked meal when I get home, which will be tomorrow," Elizabeth said. "Can't wait."

"Tired of the sunny California weather?" Peter teased, smiling at Elizabeth's laugh.

"Not really but I _am_ tired of sleeping without my husband," Elizabeth said then sighed. "I'd love to talk more but I do have to get back to work. Tell Neal I said Hi and I'll see him in a couple days. Love you."

"Love you too."

 

The next day it was as if the curator hadn't said anything. Neal sat at Peter's desk as they went over the personnel files and the techs went over the security tapes but Peter couldn't get his partner's expression or words out of his mind. He'd been hurt by the man's attitude though he doubted anyone but him would have noticed. He also noticed Neal observing him as they went through the files. "What?"

"Something you want to tell me?" Neal asked, setting another file aside. "You seem less...focused than usual, especially when we have a case like this."

Peter didn't deny it and made no effort to do so. "Just something on my mind. Nothing serious."

"If it's about yesterday..." Neal said. "The man's a pretentious ass. I thought so the first time we met. He doesn't know as much as he thinks."

"Actually, Elizabeth said to invite you to dinner Saturday," Peter said. "She's due back today - probably in flight as we speak - and she'll be rested up from the trip by then. You in?"

"Of course," Neal said. He opened another file then said nonchalantly, "But that's not really what's on your mind."

"When did I get so easy to read?" Peter asked, mock disgusted.

Neal laughed softly. "I hate to break it to you, Peter, but I've been able to read you for a while," he said. "So, what is it?"

Peter thought of what to say without telling him of what he could now do - at least not yet. His mischievous side was almost fighting to get out and it had been a while since he'd let it. "That thing I was working on..."

"That you said panned out," Neal said. "It didn't?"

"It did," Peter said. "I'm just not sure what to do with it."

"If you tell me what it is, I might be able to help," Neal said.

"I'll need to talk to El first," Peter said. "But thanks. Also, while I was looking into the...thing, I found I can multitask my magic."

"I thought you couldn't," Neal said.

"I thought the same thing," Peter said then shrugged. "Turns out I was wrong."

"Can you show me?"

Peter looked at the glass walls of his office and the busy bullpen beyond and raised a brow.

"Nothing spectacular," Neal said, sitting back. "Just, you know, an example."

Peter let out a breath and nodded. Picking up a pen, he tossed it in the air, freezing it before it hit the desk then passed a hand across it and it vanished. Then, just to show off, a small flame appeared in his palm.

"Wow, three at once," Neal said. "I'm impressed."

Peter put out the fire, made the pen reappear and put it on his desk. "Like I told El, I'm still learning what I can do with all this," he said. "Seems I don't have to concentrate as hard as I always thought. Once the...spell is activated, it stays active until I end it."

 

"Hon?" Peter called when he got home.

"In the kitchen!"

"We could have ordered out," Peter said, finding Elizabeth preparing dinner. "I know you're probably tired from the trip."

"I took a nap when I got home," Elizabeth said. "I'm fine," She worked a moment in silence as Peter got a beer. "So, have you thought about my suggestion?"

"More than I should have probably," Peter said, leaning back against the kitchen island.

"And?"

"Well, I won't deny it sounds like a lot of fun," Peter said,smiling mischievously. "Any ideas?"

"Oh, I may have one or two," Elizabeth said. "But I have a concern as well."

"You're afraid he'll take it badly," Peter said, sobering. "So am I."

"How concerned?"

Peter thought as he sipped his beer. He knew Neal - better than anyone except maybe Moz - and he knew Neal could take a joke as long as he knew it wasn't malicious. The problem was, he didn't know if Neal would take it as malicious or not. Elizabeth waited while he thought, willing to follow his lead when it came to Neal. "I think..." he said finally. "If we're careful...if _I'm_ careful then he'll get a kick out of it."

"Careful as in not...impersonating someone he knows," Elizabeth said. "Someone who'll bring up bad memories."

Peter remembered the picture he'd taken of himself and showed her. "Someone like this," he said. "But maybe not female."

"Why not?"

"You know how he likes to flirt," Peter said. "Not sure I want to be on the receiving end."

"I think it'd be fun, " Elizabeth said impishly then frowned a little. "Wait. You don't _feel_ like a woman when you are, do you?"

"No, I"m still myself," Peter said. "DNA would probably show I'm male. I just _look_ female. You saw." He regarded her thoughtfully. "You're taking this well."

"It's another part of your magic," Elizabeth said. "More...intense, I guess but it's still magic and I'm fine with that." She let out a breath and smiled, giving him a quick kiss. "You're still my husband...no matter what you look like."

Over dinner, they discussed how and when to tell Neal about Peter's new ability, what Peter would look like - he reluctantly agreed to pose as a woman - his excuse for not being there as himself. "I'm glad you didn't meet Neal first," he said when they finished hashing out details. "I'd hate to see the havoc you two could get up to together."

"You know how much fun it can be," Elizabeth said. "I remember the Larsen sting as well you you do. You enjoyed yourself. A lot. And not just because you got the bad guy."

Peter couldn't deny it and he didn't. He'd enjoyed working from Neal's side of the law and came to understand the appeal of not having to follow the rules. But he also knew himself well enough to know that he'd never be able to live that life all the time, not with the same obvious joy Neal had.

 

"You're invited to dinner tonight," Elizabeth said when she called Neal the next day.

"Thank you. Dinner with my two favorite people," Neal said.

"Actually, Peter won't be here," Elizabeth said. "Didn't he tell you?"

"Not that I remember," Neal said, frowning slightly. "But, this case..."

"Well, he's doing Captain Shattuck a favor," Elizabeth said. "Something about irregularities in the precinct payroll or something. Needs it done ASAP and he knows about Peter's accounting background. So, still coming?"

"Of course," Neal said.

"Oh, before I forget, there will be another guest," Elizabeth said. "I think you'll like her."

"Her?"

"Yeah, old friend of mine, haven't seen her in years," Elizabeth said. "And don't worry, I'm not trying to set you up. She'd kill me if I tried. Especially since she's already involved with someone."

"I look forward to meeting her," Neal said. "What time should I be there?"

"Six if you can make it," Elizabeth said. "Scratch that. You _will_ be able to make it. I'll tell Peter to let you go so you can be ready on time. Okay, see you tonight."

 

"Hon? You about ready?" Elizabeth called through the door. "Neal's going to be here soon." The door opened, showing a striking redhead with emerald green eyes, a faint dusting of freckles across her nose, curvy but not voluptuous and standing a few inches taller than Elizabeth.

"How do you even manage?" she asked, turning around. "Zip please."

Elizabeth stifled a smile as she zipped the blue silk dress she wore. "Practice," she said. "And for the last seventeen years, I've had you."

"So?" she asked, turning around.

Elizabeth studied her critically. "Maybe a blonde," she said. "But keep everything else." She watched, fascinated as the red faded to a golden blonde and lengthened to past her shoulders. "Gorgeous," she said. "Now the shoes."

"I'm _not_ wearing heels..."

"I've got flats you can borrow," Elizabeth said, going to the closet and rooting around until she emerged with a pair of black flats. Handing them to her she said, "We haven't decided on a name for you."

The woman thought for a moment as she slipped on the shoes and stood, smoothing her dress. "How about...Patricia? Patty for short," she said. "It's close enough to my real name that you shouldn't get tripped up."

Faintly, they heard a knock on the door. "That's Neal," Elizabeth said. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Peter...Patricia said.

Patricia took a seat on the couch - almost forgetting to sit like a woman - and Elizabeth waited until she got settled before opening the door to admit Neal. "Neal. Hi. Come in," she said.

"Elizabeth," Neal said, giving her a light kiss on the cheek then handing her a bottle of wine.

"Thank you, sweety," Elizabeth said, glancing at the label. "Neal, this Is Patty. Patty, this is Neal Caffrey, my husband's partner." She almost laughed when a blush stained her cheeks when Neal turned on the charm.

"And where is Peter?" Patty asked, scooting over to make room for Neal.

"I told you how he is," Elizabeth said on her way to the kitchen for glasses.

"Ah yes, you said he's something of a workaholic," Patty said then turned to Neal. "I see he didn't conscript you into working late."

"He's doing a favor for an NYPD captain," Neal said. "Something outside my area of expertise."

"And what is your area of expertise, Mr. Caffrey?"

"Please, call me Neal," he said. "I have practical experience in forgery, theft and confidence schemes."

Patty studied him a moment then said, "I take that to mean you were a criminal."

"I was," Neal said. 

 

Elizabeth stood in the kitchen doorway and observed as Neal and Patty talked. She'd heard stories about how good Peter was at undercover but - of course - she'd never seen him in any role but that of her husband or FBI agent. A smile touched her mouth as she saw Peter relax into the role he'd assumed and, surprisingly, begin flirting back. And he was much better at it as a woman than he was as a man. She cleared her throat, catching their attention. "Patty, could I talk to you for a minute, please?" She pulled her into the kitchen and pitched her voice low. "I think it's time to spill," she said.

Patty studied her a moment, seeing a touch of uncertainty in her eyes. "You're upset. You're upset that I was flirting with him."

"Well...maybe a little," Elizabeth admitted.

Patty's mouth quirked. "Surprised me to," she said. "You know how bad I am at it."

"But you're not...?"

"What? Attracted to him? Of course not. He's my partner. My friend. Not to mention, a _man_. I was just...getting into the role."

"I do think it's time to tell him though," Elizabeth said. "Any longer and it could backfire."

They rejoined Neal and Patty excused herself and went upstairs. "So, what do you think?" Elizabeth asked, handing him a glass of wine.

"I thought you weren't trying to set me up," Neal said.

"Believe me, I'm not," Elizabeth said. "I just want your opinion."

Neal thought for a moment, sipping his wine. "I don't know," he said slowly. "There was something...familiar about her. And I know I've never met her before. I'd have remembered. You know how I am with faces."

They looked up, hearing footsteps and saw Peter descend the stairs, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Peter. I thought you were helping Captain Shattuck," Neal said, confused.

"No, I haven't spoken to the captain in weeks," Peter said. "And if you're wondering where Patty is...well..." He gestured to himself.

"I don't understand."

"Show him, hon," Elizabeth said. "And Neal, just remember, this was all in fun."

"It's what I was working on the other day," Peter said as he slowly changed into Patty. "I just found out a few days ago."

"So why choose this way to tell me?" Neal asked. "You could have just said."

To their relief, he didn't seem angry or upset, just curious. "Because you're the best I know at reading people," Peter said, changing back and taking a seat. "I figured if I could fool you, I could fool anyone. Especially since you know me so well. If you couldn't figure it out..."

"Then it's doubtful anyone else could," Neal finished. 'And you thought it'd be fun."

"Yeah," Peter said. "But we were concerned you might take it badly, being fooled like this."

"You don't feel that way, do you?" Elizabeth asked, sounding faintly worried.

"No, of course not," Neal said. "I can understand the temptation such a ...talent would present." He sat back, a smile touching his mouth. "But you did surprise me. I had no idea you could flirt, Peter."

Peter let out a relieved breath. "Surprised myself, to be honest," he said. "I'm well aware how bad I am at it."

"I assume you already have plans on how to use this," Neal said.

"Undercover is the obvious," Peter said. "Other than that...I'm open to ideas."

"So you can look like anyone?" Neal asked.

"Anyone I can imagine, as far as I know," Peter said.

"And how did you find out you could do this?"

"By accident, really," Peter said. "I was in the bathroom when I noticed I had El's nose." He got his phone, showing the picture he'd taken. "One of my first efforts. That's when I found out I could multitask. I wanted to know if I changed back if I used another ability."

"And you didn't," Neal said.

"Still learning, remember? I don't know how long I can hold a...persona yet or even how long I want to push it."

"Well, you lasted at least half an hour," Neal said. He regarded his partner for a moment. "It's just cosmetic, right? You don't actually become a woman, do you?"

"DNA would most likely show the XY chromosome regardless," Peter said. "So yeah, just cosmetic."

"I've heard of guys dressing in drag but I must say you've gone a few levels past that," Neal said with a chuckle. "And I continue to underestimate you."

"Well, this isn't something anyone could expect," Peter said. "Even I didn't expect it."

"Is it just humans, do you know?"

"I haven't tried anything else," Peter said. "This is still new to me."

"But you seem to have good control already," Neal said. "And I'm curious about your process."

"All I can tell you is I wasn't thinking of anything in particular," Peter said. "You, El, maybe a case - you know, sort of stream of consciousness - and I noticed I looked a little different. I had El's nose. It got me curious so I...experimented and her face was looking back at me."

"You made yourself look like Elizabeth?" Neal asked, brows raised. "Does she know?"

"I told her."

"He also turned into you," Elizabeth said from the dining room.

"Tattle tale," Peter said, mock irritated. "In my defense, she asked me to."

"And you don't feel...how'd Moz put it? Drained?"

"I haven't noticed," Peter said.

"All right, you two, time to eat," Elizabeth said.

"Will you tell Moz?' Neal asked over dinner.

"I wouldn't know how," Peter said. "I know he's comfortable - for the most part - with my magic but this goes way beyond the rest."

"You could tell him the same way you told me," Neal said. "I don't know what he'd do if you just sprung it on him."

From there, talk turned to their latest case - the Channing forgery. Neal still had no suggestions on who could have done it but Moz had given him a tidbit of information - the curator may be tied to it - either the forgery itself or the theft of the painting it replaced.

"Credible?" PEter asked.

"I think so," Neal said. "Moz's information is usually good. Remember the Ayala case?"

"Yeah, the jewel heist at Gabrielle's," Peter said. "Okay, we'll dig into him tomorrow, see what we find."

Later after Neal went home and they were getting ready for bed, Elizabeth said, "He seemed to take it well."

"Better than I thought he would," Peter said. "Certainly better than the invisibility."

"Well, from what you told me, that was a complete surprise," Elizabeth said. "He knows about your magic now."

"Now we have to figure out how to tell Moz," Peter said.

"We don't have to, you know."

Peter considered that as they climbed into bed. "I don't know," he said. "It seems...unfair if we don't. After how he helped with Corman...And I told him everything else and he hasn't told anyone so I doubt he'll tell anyone about this."

"You trust him," Elizabeth said.

"With this, I do," Peter said. "He hasn't given me a reason not to."

"Well, you have time to decide if and how."

But as he drifted to sleep, Peter had already made up his mind - he was going to tell Moz. It was just a matter of when.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets to use his new ability on a case.

"Morning Patty," Neal said teasingly when Peter picked him up the next morning.

"Remember what I said about teasing?" Peter asked as he pulled away from the mansion.

"I thought that was just about when we were in the shower together," Neal said.

"It was but I'm adding this to the list," Peter said. He was quiet as he negotiated traffic then asked, "You really don't mind how I told you about this?"

"I admit I was surprised," Neal said. "But no, I don't mind. Like I said, I can understand the temptation. And I'm curious."

"About how I do it?"

"About all of it," Neal said. "Like the scrying. How exactly _do_ you find someone with that?"

"That, I can tell you but it would be a rather lengthy explanation," Peter said. "And we still need to find who painted that forgery and hopefully find the original."

 

Once in the office, they began digging through the curator's financials, his business dealings and contacts, his personal life and found something surprising. There seemed to be ties to some of their past art forgery and theft cases, stretching back to the beginning of the man's curatorship - not only from the Channing but other museums and galleries, both large and small. A painting would go missing or be discovered as a forgery and shortly after - within days - the curator's bank account would receive a generous deposit, from a few grand to hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Neal and Peter were in Peter's office as they reviewd the financials. "Why the smaller amounts?" Peter asked. "The painting was worth less on the market?"

"Possibly," Neal said thoughtfully. "Or it could be that it was for services as authenticator, though that's generous. Someone brings a painting to him to verify and they pay him a few thousand. The higher amounts..."

"He hooks them up with a seller? Arranges to have it acquired?" 

"Two possibilities," Neal said. "Acts as broker or middleman." He paged back through the file, shaking his head. "I was still in St. Louis when this started. The man's made millions."

"So how do we tie him to this one if there _is_ a tie?" Peter asked. "If he's the broker or middleman, we'll have to get either the seller or the buyer, not to mention finding out when the painting is going up for sale."

"Moz is still looking into it," Neal said.

"Really?"

"He took it as understood," Neal said. "He finds us a place to start - the curator - then he finds us where and when."

"And you're absolutely sure the piece you examined is a fake?" Peter asked.

"As sure as you are that I forged those bonds," Neal said. "At first, I wasn't sure - the forgery is that good. That's why I took so much time but as I said, there were a few brushstrokes that showed hesitation that shouldn't have, colors that were just slighly off, perspective a tiny bit skewed. Not noticeable unless you really look. Anyone not very well versed would think it was authentic - the viewing public, a buyer, even a seller if they didn't know for sure."

"That opens up the possibility that some of the paintings stolen and sold were forged," Peter said.

"Wouldn't be the first time a fake was passed off as the real thing," Neal said. He shrugged. "Did it myself in the early days."

"Past the statute of limitations?" Peter asked, letting his amusement show.

Neal grinned. "What do you think?" And no, I didn't do the one at the Channing."

"That was my next question," Peter admitted.

"I know," Neal said casually. "Just thought I'd get it out there." He turned their attention back to the case. "So, do we have enough to bring him in for questioning? You have to admit the timing on some of these deposits is highly suspicious. One or two yeah, but almost a dozen?"

 

They got nowhere with the curator during questioning. He refused to say where the extra cash came from, saying only that he did some freelance work on the side and refused to supply the names of those he did work for. All the while, he kept looking contemptuously at Neal and directing his (non) answers to Peter, ignoring a question if Neal asked, refusing to answer unless Peter repeated it.

"You have to admit the timing of those deposits is suspicious," Peter said, repeating Neal's earlier observation.

"Ever hear of coincidence, agent? That's all it is. Coincidence. It doesn't mean I had anything at all to do with those robberies."

"I had a buddy who was in the Army," Peter said, sitting back. "You know what they say about coincidence? First time is accident, second time is coincidence, third time is enemy action. We have records that show significant deposits were made to your account within days of almost a dozen robberies. That, I think, is about as far from coincidence as it's possible to get."

"It does seem a stretch, I'll admit, but it doesn't rule it out. You want to arrest me then find proof."

In the end, they had to let him go and neither was happy about it.

"Your gut says he's guilty," Neal said.

"It's practically screaming," Peter said. "But he's right. We've really got nothing, just some suspiciously timed deposits."

"So let's find something," Neal said.

 

Three weeks later, they were still looking for a solid link between the Channing's curator and another three robberies/forgeries that were accompanied by deposits to his account. Fortunately, they had Moz on their team and, though he apologized for taking so long, he was able to give them a solid lead.

"This guy _volunteered_? Why?" Peter asked.

"Because his avarice was unsatisfied," Moz said as the three of them sat in Neal's loft.

"He was short changed," Peter translated. "His commission wasn't what was agreed on."

"Correct, Suit," Moz said. "He received a guarantee of twelve percent of the final sale price of the latest missing piece. He received only nine percent."

"He knows he won't get that other three percent, right?"

"He's aware," Moz said. "I realize you think that criminals of his stripe have no principles but it is, in fact, a matter of principle. A contract was breached and he was the injured party. This is his way of rectifying the imbalance."

"Honestly, I don't care why he's doing this, just that he is," Peter said.

"Did he say who arranged the sale?" Neal asked.

"Your friend at the Channing," Moz said. "He has more information but insists on some...concessions in return."

"I think I can arrange a deal," Peter said. "He cops to possession of stolen property and I drop the robbery charge. Would he find that acceptable?"

Moz thought for a moment as he sipped his glass of red. "I do believe he would, Suit," he said. "No guarantees of course but I'll put your proposal to him."

 

A few days later, a rather nervous young man was escorted into the white collar offices and up to the conference room. Seeing he wasn't in an interrogation room, the table long and made of glass and not metal with an anchor for cuffs, he relaxed, even smiled slightly.

"I'm Agent Burke, this is Neal Caffrey..." Peter started.

"I know who you are," the young man said, interrupting him. "I was told by a Mr. Havisham that you're the ones I'd be talking to. He also said you'd offer me a deal in exchange for telling you what I know about the recent thefts. Is that true?"

"If you give us information that leads to an arrest then I'm authorized to drop the robbery charge," Peter said.

"The possession of stolen property charge?"

"That will get you two, maybe three years, if that. The robbery charge would be significantly more," Peter said. "I can't let you off completely."

The young man thought that over then gave a nod. "Deal."

"Is this the man who approached you?" Peter asked, sliding a picture of the curator over.

"Yeah, that's him. Told me to meet him at the delivery dock after close, three weeks ago this past Monday, told me he wanted me to deliver something for him that he had for sale and I'd get twelve percent for my trouble."

"Do you know what it was?' Neal asked.

"Not difficult for recognize a painting crated for delivery," the young man said. "And that wasn't the only time. He's used my...services three, four times in the last couple years."

"So what happened this last time?"

"I pick up the painting and deliver it to the address he gave me - some swanky apartment near Midtown - and the guy gives me an envelope stuffed with cash, mostly hundreds. He tells me to take it to our mutual friend, that the agreed on price has been met."

"Moz...Mr. Havisham told us you didn't receive your full commission."

"Yeah, that's true. And I knew I didn't when he paid me. I know how much was in that envelope and I knew what my cut was supposed to be. I didn't get that much. I'd have never welshed on a commission like he did. I may be a criminal but at least I'm an honest one."

"Anything else?"

"That painting that went missing from the Channing three weeks ago? Word has it it was replaced with a forgery."

"It was that that got us involved," Neal said. "You know where the original is?"

"I'm pretty sure that's the one I delivered to Midtown. I don't know since I didn't look. Anyway, I got another call from the Channing guy just yesterday. Wants me for another delivery in two days."

"If you could give us the details..." Peter said, sliding a pad of paper and a pen across the table.

"He'll be expecting me," the young man said, beginning to write.

"You let us worry about that," Peter said. "Once you're done, I'll have to place you under arrest, start your processing."

"Yeah, I know," the young man said. "Not my first time through the system. And a couple years ain't _that_ long." He smirked a little as he pushed pad and pen back. "I know he'll get a lot more."

The three rose and the young man stood patiently as he was cuffed and read his rights before Peter handed him over to Jones for further processing. As he was led away, he said over his shoulder, "You're not bed for a Fed, man."

"You're going as him?" Neal asked when they entered Peter's office.

"Crossed my mind," Peter said.

"He _did_ say he was expected and that he'd done jobs for him before," Neal said. "Think you could?"

"Probably," Peter said. He read the details they'd been given. "Huh, he even gave us the address of his last delivery."

"So we get them for possession of stolen property," Neal said.

"I'll need you to verify."

"Not a problem," Neal said, taking his usual chair. "You know, since we have a witness, we could arrest him."

"We do but unfortunately it's the word of a criminal," Peter said. "And besides, I want to catch him red-handed."

"Can I be there?"

"He never said anything about a partner or a wheelman," Peter said.

"Doesn't mean he didn't have one," Neal said then his tone turned a little wheedling. "Please?"

"All right," Peter said, sounding long suffering. "But just in case, stay out of sight. He would recognize you."

"Peter, it'll be after dark, in the back of the museum and he's not going to want to take that long," Neal said. "I know how these things go."

"Practical experience?"

"Allegedly," Neal said, just to get a reaction - Peter's eye roll - and grinning when he got it.

 

Two days later, Peter and Neal sat in the Taurus in an alley down the block from the Channing while Peter changed into their informant. By the time he was finished - and thank goodness for Neal's eye for detail - he had just enough time to make the meeting.

"Where have you been?" the curator snapped. "You're late."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Peter asked. "And it's only a few minutes. Now, what am I taking and where am I taking it?"

The curator gestured to a smallish box just inside the dock door. "Here's the address," he said, handing Peter a slip of paper. "Same as before; you deliver the painting, get the payment and bring it here."

"And my cut?"

"Ten percent," the curator said. "Now go. They're expecting it in the next two hours." He turned to go but startled when his arms were pulled back followed by the snap of cuffs. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded angrily. His mouth dropped open in surprise when he was turned around and came face to face with Peter Burke.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law..." Peter hauled him back to the Taurus and shoved him in the back. To his credit (again), Neal passed on the opportunity to snipe at him, to point out that he was also a felon.

 

"I won't bother listing the charges against you," Peter said once they were in the interrogation room. "You'll hear those from your lawyer and in court. But I will say we have you dead to rights and you're going away for a long time. How long depends on you."

"What do you want?"

"A list of paintings you had stolen and/or forged and who bought them," Peter said. "As well as where they were...acquired. We know that some came from other museums and galleries."

The curator looked like he wanted to refuse, perhaps take his chances in court but then slumped in defeat. "I'll need something to write with."

As Peter stayed with the prisoner, Neal stepped out to call Elizabeth to let her know Peter shouldn't be too much longer and that he'd make sure he wasn't.

"He got to use it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, he did," Neal said. "And despite the circumstances, I know he had fun."

"I think it was _because_ of the circumstances," Elizabeth said, amusement obvious. She let out a breath. "Make sure he's not there all night," she said. "Drag him out if you have to."

"I'll tell him you said so," Neal said, smiling.

When the curator finished writing, there was a list of over two dozen paintings he'd had stolen/forged/sold over the course of two and a half decades. Also listed were the buyers and - in some cases - who did the forgery.

"You've been most helpful," Peter said, folding the list.

"Like I had much of a choice," the curator grumbled as Peter pulled him up.

"You had one," Peter said. "Either cooperate or not."

Despite the late hour, they delivered him to the MCC and Neal made it quite clear that Elizabeth expected him home - the paperwork and the follow up could wait. Peter gave in and dropped Neal off at June's before heading home.

 

Ovet the next few weeks, they were kept busy tracking down the paintings and buyers. Unfortunately they couldn't find all of them - some had been resold or stolen in the intervening years - and a few of the buyers had passed away and at least two forgers had left the life and "retired" to parts unknown. But over all, they couldn't complain. They managed to return almost half the missing pieces, arrested six buyers and three forgers.

With their curator behind bars and awaiting trial, the Channing needed another one and shocked Neal almost speechless by offering him the position. Peter deliberately kept his opinion to himself when Neal told him of the offer despite the fact he hoped Neal would turn them down. Neal asked for his input anyway over dinner at the Burke's.

"I think you know what I'd say," Peter said. "But it's your decision, you know that. The Channing is a respectable institution and their collection is one of the best for its size. It would also meant more money and less violence than the Bureau." With that he said no more about it.

The following Monday, Peter found out what Neal was going to do when he dropped down into the visitor's chair in Peter's office. "I turned them down," he said without preamble.

Peter kept his surprise - and relief - to himself as he asked, "Why? You love art. This would allow you to work with what you love."

"True," Neal said. "But after a while, I think I'd get bored. Here, I get to out-think criminals, return art to its owners, go undercover, run the occasional con." He leaned back. "And what they failed to mention is they'd get a two-fer if I agreed - a curator and an onsite authenticator. Why pay someone else when they have someone in-house? There's also one other thing..." His mouth curved in a sly smile. "I wouldn't have a superhero for a partner."

"I'm not a superhero," Peter said.

Neal shrugged. "Close enough," he said. "Maybe you can't fly or run super fast...wait. Can you?" When Peter shook his head, he went on. "And besides, I _like_ this job. I have friends here, colleagues...family. I've known most of my life that family is the one thing I couldn't steal, couldn't fake. I've just never really had it until now."

"So what you're saying is you're staying with the Bureau," Peter said, mouth twitching.

Neal chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I"m saying," he said. "Don't get me wrong, I was flattered by the offer but I think sooner or later, some board member or other, some patron would get uncomfortable about my rather colorful past. That could cost the museum donors and other people who appreciate art like I do would pay the price. Here, my past is an asset - you've made that clear from the beginning."

"Well, I can't say I'm disappointed," Peter said. "Glad, actually. You're a definite asset to the team and they know it. You've taught them a lot and that makes them better at their jobs." He paused, looking at his partner. "And you _do_ have family here, Neal," he said. "Sometimes the family you make is better than the one you were born to."

"Certainly true in my case," Neal said then let out a breath. "So, enough of the sappy crap. We have work to do, don't we? We still have to come up with how to spring this on Moz. You _are_ going to tell him, aren't you?"

Peter laughed, letting the moment pass. "I was," he said. "Like I told El, it wouldn't seem fair if I didn't. I know I can trust him with this and I know he's fascinated whether he admits it or not."

"He's not the only one," Neal said. "Anyway, I was thinking the same way you told me - dinner at your place, you having an excuse not to be there..."

"I'll talk to El," Peter said. "She helped a lot the last time with my appearance...wardrobe..."

Neal grinned. "Peter Burke, FBI agent...cross dresser..."

"I didn't say I'd be a woman," Peter objected mildly. "Although it _is_ more dramatic."

"So, we'll see Patty again?" Neal asked impishly.

"Not if you keep that up," Peter said. "But one thing...no flirting with me, all right? It's...disconcerting."

"You know I really can't help it," Neal said. "Beautiful woman...it's almost reflex. Besides, Moz will expect it."

"You thought I was beautiful?" Peter asked, mouth twitching as he tried not to smile.

"Figures you pick up on that. I thought _Patty_ was beautiful. Elizabeth has a good eye."

"And how do you think Moz will react if he knows you flirted with a man?" Peter asked. "My bet is he'd never let you live it down."

Neal pursed his lips. "You make a good point," he said. "So okay, no flirting with you. I'll just be my normal, charming self."

"Well, right now, be your normal, brilliant self and get to work on these embezzlement cases," Peter said, handing him a stack of case files. "I'll talk to El tonight then we can plan."

"So you think I'm brilliant," Neal teased as he gathered the files and stood. "Nice of you to admit it."

"Oh, I'll admit it, have before," Peter said. "But what does it say about me? I _did_ catch you after all."

"Keep bringing that up and I _will_ flirt with you," Neal said. "Moz notwithstanding."

"All right, I won't bring it up, you don't flirt with me," Peter said. "Deal?"

"Deal."

"Good. Now get to work."

"Will do...Patty," Neal said mischievously then ducked out before Peter could respond. But he did hear the chuckle as he went to his desk.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moz is let in on the secret of Peter's new ability...and Peter has some concerns regarding it.

"Come on Peter, open up," Neal called through the door. "I'm going to see anyway."

"He's not ready yet," Elizabeth called back. "Why don't you go down and wait for Moz?"

"Is he Patty? I kind of liked Patty," Neal said.

The door opened slightly and Elizabeth looked out. "No, not Patty," she said. "He's Monica so try to keep that in mind."

"So what does Monica look like?"

"You'll see," Elizabeth said. "So please...downstairs?"

Neal sighed. "All right," he said. "but you owe me one for being so patient." With a last look at Elizabeth, he went downstairs, hoping Moz would get there soon.

 

Elizabeth closed the door and turned back to the woman who was her husband. She was sitting on the bed, her short black hair falling in bangs over her startling blue eyes. He skin had a faintly olive tint, her features delicate, almost elfin. Standing, she was a few inches shorter than Elizabeth - petite was the perfect descriptor. Elizabeth shook her head. "How is it you always turn into a beautiful woman?" she asked.

"Lucky, I guess," Monica said, her mouth quirking in a very Peter like smile. She let out a breath and Elizabeth handed her a pair of sandals with low heels. She looked at them a little askance before putting them on.

"You shouldn't have too much trouble with those," Elizabeth said. "They're not much higher than your dress shoes."

"But my dress shoes aren't so...strappy," Monica said, fastening the buckles.

"No, but those make your legs look fantastic," Elizabeth said appreciatively.

"El..."

"Well, they do," Elizabeth said matter of factly. She let out a breath. "So, you're ready," she said. "Now come on before Neal has an aneurysm."

"If he starts flirting with me, I swear I'll kick him," Monica said, standing.

"Hon, _I_ want to flirt with you," Elizabeth said.

"You're my wife."

"I mean flirt with you as Monica," Elizabeth said. "Hon, it's Neal. Of course he's going to flirt."

Monica sighed, smoothing her dress. "Yeah, he's Neal. Can't really help himself I suppose. All right, let's go. Moz will probably be here soon."

They almost laughed at Neal's expression when they went downstairs.

"Wow," Neal breathed as he slowly stood. "Peter...?"

"Monica," she said.

"Oh...yeah. Sorry," Neal said. "It's just..."

"He's gorgeous," Elizabeth finished. "Moz?"

"He just texted," Neal said. "He'll be here in about twenty."

"So I'll give you fifteen to get over your staring," Monica said.

"Okay, how much was your idea?" Neal asked Elizabeth.

"Not as much as you think," Elizabeth said on her way to the kitchen. "I just made suggestions, he did the rest."

Neal studied his partner, ignoring his appearance for the moment. "So...where'd you put the extra...mass? You're about half your normal size."

"You know I really don't know how it works," Monica said. "I don't need the extra mass so it just...goes away until I change back."

"It was fascinating to watch," Elizabeth said, returning with three glasses of wine. She rolled her eyes at Monica's eye roll. and said, "I know you want your beer, hon but it won't kill you to have wine on occasion."

"I do have wine occasionally," Monica said. "You know that, it's just..."

"You want your beer," Elizabeth said.

Monica noticed Neal's appreciative look and admitted - _very_ quietly to herself - that she enjoyed how it made her feel. Now she understood how all those other women felt when the full Caffrey charm was turned on them. "Keep that up and you're on mortgage fraud for a month," she said, sipping her wine.

"Come on, Peter...Monica...you really can't blame me," Neal said.

"Hon, relax," Elizabeth said. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Have a little fun."

She looked between the two - Neal on the couch with Elizabeth next to him - seeing Elizabeth's impish expression and relaxed, a smile touching her mouth. "So you won't mind if I flirt back?" she asked. "You were a little uncomfortable the last time."

"Wait..." Neal said. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Elizabeth."

"I was," Elizabeth said. "But I've had time to think about it." She sighed. "I know you almost have to flirt..."

"I don't _have_ to..."

"It's part of who you are," Elizabeth continued. "It's habit almost. And flirting is your way of showing someone you like them."

"But if it makes you uncomfortable..."

"I'm not," Elizabeth said. "Not this time. If Peter doesn't mind then I don't."

"Peter?"

Monica sat back. "I suppose," she said. "As long as you keep in mind I'm actually a man. And besides, as you pointed out, Moz will expect it."

"Just so you know, if I keep in mind you're actually a man I probably won't be able to flirt convincingly."

"Think of this as a chance to embrace your feminine side, hon," Elizabeth said.

Monica's smile dropped. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea," she said.

"Why not?"

"Not sure," Monica said. "Just a feeling." Just then, there was a knock - on the back door - and Elizabeth got up to answer it. "He _does_ know he can come in the front door, right?"

Neal shrugged. "It's Moz," he said. "You know how he is."

"Moz, come in," Elizabeth said.

"El...Neal," Moz said then stopped short. "And who is this?"

"Moz, meet Monica," Elizabeth said, leading him to the couch. "Monica, this is Moz."

"Interesting name," Monica said.

"I'm an interesting person," Moz said, taking her hand and giving a short bow. He noticed the smirk that Neal quickly smoothed and narrowed his eyes a little. "What?" he asked.

Neal gave him an innocent look. "Nothing," he said. "It's just...well, Monica here is involved."

"Ah, I see," Moz said, stepping back. "Well, far be it from me to encroach on another man's territory."

"I'm not anyone's property, Moz," Monica said. "I _can_ call you Moz..."

"Of course."

"So what kind of name is that?"

"A nickname. One I've h ad since I was a child," Moz said, nodding thanks to Elizabeth when she handed him a glass of wine.

"Neal, could you help me in the kitchen, please?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal knew that tone and knew she wasn't really asking. "Of course," he said. Once they were in the kitchen, he said, "Come on, Elizabeth, I haven't had the chance to really flirt."

"You can flirt during dinner," Elizabeth said. She regarded him with a slight smile. "You don't think he'll flirt back."

"I'm pretty sure he will," Neal said. "He did the last time."

Elizabeth leaned a hip against the island and regarded him. "What's this about Neal?"

"I just want to have a little fun," Neal said. When Elizabeth raised a brow, he sighed. "Maybe not the best idea I've had," he said. "But it's really a once in a lifetime chance."

"Just don't go overboard or he _will_ stick you on mortgage fraud for a month," Elizabeth said. "If you're lucky."

 

But Monica surprised them all by flirting outrageously with Neal _and_ Moz - much to Neal's amusement. This time Elizabeth just sat back and enjoyed the show. She knew better than anyone how...inept...Peter was at flirting - after all, his idea of a pick up line was 'You look thirsty' - so seeing that side of him was a nice surprise. Neal, getting into the spirit of things, flirted back, turning the Caffrey charm almost full blast. From the look Monica and Elizabeth traded, they knew Neal was probably gathering ammunition to tease Peter with. It didn't seem to occur to him that Peter might be doing the same thing.

Just before dessert, Monica asked, "Elizabeth, would you mind if I..." and gestured upstairs with raised brows.

"Of course," Elizabeth said. "First door on the left."

"So Moz, Peter wanted to thank you for that tip about the curator," Neal said. "And getting Jimmy to talk to us. Broke the case wide open."

"And where is the Suit this evening?" Moz asked.

"Surveillance duty," Neal said.

"You'd think he'd be able to pass on that now that he's in charge," Moz said.

"He owed Captain Shattuck a favor," Elizabeth said. "He needed an experienced pair of ears and from what Peter said, there was the possibility it could become and FBI case." A few minutes later, the sound of a heavy tread alerted them and Elizabeth said, "Actually Moz, Peter's been here the entire time."

They were reminded of how quick Moz was at putting the pieces together when he said, "Monica is actually Peter. But...how?"

"I'll answer that," Peter said as he joined them. "At least, as well as I can." He nodded thanks when Elizabeth handed him a beer. "New ability," he said. "Found out about a month ago. Came in handy during the Channing case. Since Jimmy couldn't make the meet, I took his place."

"But you were a woman tonight," Moz pointed out. "And, if I may be so bold, a very beautiful one at that."

"Thank you, Moz," Peter said, mouth quirked in a smile. "I can be either gender, at least cosmetically. As I told these two, a DNA test would most likely show me as male."

"And how did you find out?" Moz asked Neal.

"Same way you just did," Neal said. "Except that time, he was Patty, who was taller and a green eyed blonde."

Moz thought that over as he sipped his wine. "I assume you can look like anyone you choose."

"Always knew you were quick," Peter said. "And the answer is yes, like I did with Jimmy." He smiled a little mischievously when Moz tilted his head toward Neal and raised a brow. As Moz watched, his features changed and minutes later there were two Neal Caffreys sitting at the table.

"That is so wrong," Neal said. "I wouldn't drink beer."

"The Panthers case," faux Neal said. "So yes, you have."

"I was being polite," Neal said. "Afterward, I went back to the loft and drank a bottle of wine to get rid of the taste." He looked at Moz, seeing the highly amused expression he wore. "Glad you're having fun with this," he said, mock disgusted.

"Well, it's not often I get to see you snipe at yourself, mon frere," Moz said. "Actually, this is the first time so of course I'm going to enjoy it."

"He can look like you too, you know," Neal reminded him.

Minutes later, there were two of Moz. "I see what you mean," Moz said. "No way would I drink beer."

"I would," Elizabeth said. "All right hon, you can be yourself."

"Thank you," Peter said with exaggerated relief. He took a drink of his beer, regarding Moz as he did. "It's a bit...overwhelming, isn't it?"

"More startling then anything else," Moz said. "But in my view, no more unusual then the rest." When Peter raised his brows in an unasked question he said, "And as before, your secret's safe with me. I'm practically _made_ of secrets."

Peter gave him a nod and finished his beer. He saw the faintly quizzical look Elizabeth wore and once again raised his brow in question.

"You said earlier that you didn't think getting in touch with your feminine side would be a good idea. Why?"

Peter rolled the bottle between his hands. "I just had a feeling," he said. "That if I got that deep into it...I might not come back."

Neal leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, a frown creasing his brow. "Correct me if I'm wrong but everything you can do is basically up here, right?" he asked, tapping his temple.

"Essentially," Peter said. "But you can understand why I wouldn't want to take the risk. Besides, I _like_ being a man."

"And I'm sure Elizabeth likes you as a man," Neal said, causing the others to chuckle. "And you can look at it this way - you made it almost three hours this time."

"Because I kept focus," Peter said.

"Even when you were flirting?" Elizabeth asked. "I've got to say, you gave Neal a real run for his money on that."

"After years of watching him, I guess I picked up a few things," Peter said.

"So why can't you do that as a man?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. "One of life's great mysteries, I suppose."

 

Shortly after, Moz went on his way, giving Peter a look of consideration and Peter could almost see the plans Moz was making and discarding in rapid succession.

"You have no idea what he'd do if he had what you have," Neal said as he relaxed with a glass of wine.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do," Peter said, mouth quirked in amusement. "I guess law enforcement everywhere should be glad he can't."

Neal regarded him. "Were you really worried about...getting lost? Because I have to admit, I just can't see it happening. You're one of the most focused, strong willed people I know."

Peter pursed his lips. "I didn't want El to worry but I could feel myself slipping during dinner," he said. "I began to see you as a very attractive man...I mean, objectively I know you are and I can admit that but this was more...visceral." He let out a breath and admitted, "It scared me."

"And you're scared that if you do...lose yourself, no one can help you back," Neal said, hearing what Peter didn't say.

"Yeah," Peter said quietly. "Or it would take a long time. The questions that would raise would be almost impossible to answer. I doubt even you could come up with a plausible story."

"Yeah, none of us could really say 'Sorry, Peter won't be coming back to the Bureau for a long time - if at all - because he's now a woman and doesn't remember his training," Neal said.

"Worse case scenario," Peter said. "I wouldn't remember my training...or anything else. Not El, not you, not Moz or the team. So you can understand why I don't want to take too much of a chance with this. The other stuff can be dangerous to other people, this can be dangerous to _me_."

"So, if you have to use it, we'll just have to make sure it's not for long," Neal said.

 

About a month later, he had to. Moz had gotten on the wrong side of some dangerous people and, despite how careful he was, they managed to grab him. Peter learned of it when a very worried Neal came to the house.

"Are you sure he isn't off doing something he doesn't want anyone to know about?" Peter asked. "I know he's more or less retired but I also know he's keeping his hand in."

"It's not like that Peter," Neal said. "I've sent him dozens of texts, left half a dozen or more voicemails and nothing. Not a word. He always gets back to me." He paused, pacing the living room. "Peter, it's been four days."

"All right, hang on," Peter said. He went upstairs and came back with a small mirror, not minding when Neal sat close beside him, watching as it clouded and cleared, showing Moz sitting in a worn leather upholstered chair in what appeared to be a run down apartment. Aside from a few bruises, he seemed relatively unhurt. Peter expanded the view and they saw he was being guarded by a beefy man with a scarred face. Again, Neal missed what Peter did next as the other man began getting a fix on Moz's location. He was curious but he'd wait to ask - his friend was his first concern.

"Got him," Peter said a few minutes later, putting the mirror in his pocket. "I won't bother telling you to wait here because I know you won't so come on. I didn't like the look of that guard."

 

"He's on the first floor," Peter said after they parked down the street from the building Moz was being held in.

"So what's the plan?"

"We go invisible, I take Moz's place while you get him out," PEter said.

"What about you?"

"Don't worry," Peter said. "You know I've got more than one trick up my sleeve."

"Can't you just freeze them?"

"I could but I want the guy behind it," Peter said. Seeing Neal's faintly confused expression, he said, "Moz is as much my CI as you were. He's done good work for me and I like the little guy. I'm not going to let him get hurt."

As soon as the entryway door closed behind them, they disappeared and made their way to the apartment where Moz was, pausing to listen and hearing a voice, muffled by the door. Peter pulled out the mirror and gazed into it for a few seconds. "Not the guard," he whispered. "Got your kit? The door's locked."

"I can get the door open," Neal whispered back.

Still watching the mirror, Peter held up a hand as he watched Moz's captor leave the room the nodded to Neal. Seconds later, the door opened and they slipped inside to find Moz in the chair, fortunately not bound.

"Not a sound," Peter whispered in his ear. "I want you to go with Neal and let me handle this guy. Okay?"

Moz nodded and eased out of the chair, feeling someone grab his wrist. He looked back and saw Peter sitting in the chair, taking on his appearance, complete with bruises. The door had just closed behind them when the man returned.

"So Moz," he said. "I think we've both had enough of this so why don't you just tell me where it is? You do, I'll let you leave."

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about," Peter said.

The man braced his hands on the arms, leaning in close. "So you've said but I don't believe you. You know where everything you've stolen is and you made a mistake stealing from me. So where is it?"

Peter leaned back. "Or what? You'll kill me?" he asked derisively. "That's the problem with you people. I'm the only one who knows where it is so if you kill me, where does that get you?"

"So you admit you have it."

"I did no such thing. I said I knew where it was, not that I have it. There's a difference, you moron."

Peter slowly stood up, forcing the man to straighten as he did and got right into his space, his eyes flicking to the gun in his waistband. It would be easy to grab. Before the man realized it, he was disarmed and on the floor, hands pinned behind his back.

"What the..."

"Shut up," Peter said, snapping his cuffs on. He pulled out his phone, hitting the preset for Neal. "How is he?"

"Still shaken," Neal said. "You?"

"I'm fine," Peter said. "If you'd call the NYPD and have them send someone..."

"Moz won't talk to them, you know that," Neal said.

"He won't have to," Peter said. "I will."

 

It took awhile but Peter managed to spin a story convincing enough for the police about how he'd managed to turn the tables on the kidnapper - all while remaining as Moz. It was only after they'd left with the man in custody did he revert to himself and rejoin Neal and Moz at the Taurus. "So what did he want?" he asked.

"The item he was interested in passed through my hands more than three years ago," Moz said. "I have no idea where it is now."

"Why didn't you just tell him?"

"He wouldn't have believed me," Moz said. "Not unless I could prove I didn't have it. And since he refused to let me out..."

"Catch twenty two," Peter said. "You couldn't prove you didn't have it unless he let you out but he wouldn't let you out unless you could prove you didn't have it." He gestured to the car and Moz somewhat reluctantly got in.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Home with me," Peter said. "El will want to fuss over you...and you'll let her."

Moz considered that then said, "As long as there's wine involved."

"I'm sure there will be," Peter said, not hiding his amusement.

 

When they got to the house in Brooklyn, Neal held Peter back when they went inside - Moz being busy regaling Elizabeth with the story of his ordeal. "Peter..." Neal started then let out a breath. "Thanks."

"He's my friend too, Neal," Peter said. "He's done...is doing a lot for me and not just the CI stuff. I couldn't repay that by doing nothing." He looked at Moz sitting at the table who was looking back at him.

"I'd like to add my thanks as well," Moz said. "...Peter."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes undercover using his new ability and Neal has an unexpected reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up, this chapter will end in something of a cliffhanger.

"Tell me we have an interesting case," Neal said, dropping into the visitor's chair that everyone in the office had mutually agreed was his.

"All our cases are interesting," Peter said.

"You know what I mean," Neal said. "Interesting in a way that doesn't mean hunched over my desk, staring at numbers."

Peter shuffled through the files on his desk then slid one over. "Take a look," he said. "Tell me what you think."

Neal paged through the information, brows rising. "Identity theft?"

"A ring of identity thieves operating out of Club Giselle," Peter said.

"Wow. That's exclusive," Neal said. "And more trendy than Merlin. So how do we get in?"

"The same way everyone else does," Peter said.

"Be young, attractive and rich," Neal said. "And hope to get picked. Most spend all night waiting in line."

Peter leaned back. "Well, you're young and attractive," he said. "Me...I can be."

"What about rich?"

"Cyber Division's working on it," Peter said.

Neal studied his partner for a moment or two. "You're going to make yourself younger?" he asked.

"I don't think they'll let two unaccompanied men in," Peter said.

Neal sat forward, frowning a little. "Are you sure you want to take the risk?" he asked, knowing what Peter meant.

"As long as I stay focused," Peter said. "So I may need your help to...keep me here. I don't plan on being her that long but just in case..."

"Her?"

"Monica," Peter said.

"Isn't there a female agent that can go in with me?" Neal asked.

"The closest is Kelsey,' Peter said. "But she doesn't have enough experience. And she doesn't drink."

Neal let out a breath. "All right," he said. "But if I think you're getting lost, we're leaving...provided we get in at all."

"I have faith in your charm and powers of persuasion," Peter said, mouth quirking.

"So how did you explain that you're going undercover as a five foot two, black haired, blue eyed woman?" Neal asked.

"All we really need are the credit cards," Peter said. "I doubt very much they'll be checking ID."

"Never hurts to have them though, just in case," Neal said. "I think Moz might still have his equipment and you know my work."

Peter thought that over. "How long would it take?"

"I'll ask Moz how fast he can get the materials," Neal said. "If he doesn't have the equipment then he knows someone who does and we'll need Monica's picture."

"All right, get hold of him, see if he can do this," Peter said. "I'll get the photo to you."

"And how long until we get the cards from Cyber Division?"

"It'll be a few more days," Peter said. "They need to tie them to a dummy account so if the numbers are stolen, they can be traced."

"Is it just credit cards or IDs as well?"

"Mostly credit cards," Peter said. "Fraudulent charges have been appearing on patrons' cards for the last month. Almost all of them after a visit to Giselle's."

"So...you'll be my date?" Neal asked impishly. "What will Elizabeth think?"

"She'd tell you to keep your hands off her husband," Peter said, amused.

"Ah, but Monica isn't her husband," Neal pointed out. "But, I'm a gentleman so no groping...at least, no _unauthorized_ groping."

"No groping period," Peter said.

 

A few days later, Peter received an interdepartmental envelope containing two platinum credit cards issued to Nick Halden and Monica Hayward, along with the attendant paperwork.

"I get to be Nick, huh?"

"Been a while since you've taken him out for a spin," Peter said. "And he does fit the apparent criteria for getting in - young, attractive and rich."

"Why Hayward?"

"I was a fan of the Moody Blues," Peter said. "Lead singer was Justin Hayward."

"You're dating yourself, Peter," Neal said.

"I thought you were dating me," Peter said mischievously.

Neal laughed. "Can't really say we're dating," he said. "So back to the case, I gave Moz a call and had him make up some IDs. Shouldn't be more than a few days. Unless you want something that'll pass inspection."

"Cursory examination should be enough," Peter said.

 

As Peter had expected, Neal's charm - along with Monica's appearance - got them into the dimly lit club. The place was crowded, with most of the patrons dancing - writhing almost - on the small dance floor to a heavy bass beat. Still, they managed to find a booth in the corner. Minutes later, a server appeared to take their drinks order and both were relieved they didn't have to yell to be heard. The music wasn't so loud they had to shout but enough to cover their conversation.

"You doing okay?" Neal asked.

"It hasn't been that long," Monica said. "I'm fine."

"You'll let me know?"

"I will. Now stop worrying."

As they waited for their drinks, they kept an eye on the servers to see if any of them took longer than necessary to run the cards. They also kept an eye on the bartender as the next obvious one to be running the ring. Monica was watching one server as she sipped her drink - Scotch, neat - when she saw her slip a card under her apron, swipe down then return it to the tray. She nudged Neal and directed his attention to the suspect server. "That one has a skimmer," she said.

Neal studied the woman under the guise of sipping his wine. "Yeah. I see," he said. "Wouldn't notice if you're not looking for it."

"Think they all do?" Monica asked.

"Possible though it would seem like overkill," Neal said. "Identity theft rings, like cons and hoaxes, tend to fall apart if too many people are involved. There are what? Eight, ten servers? And maybe the bartender?"

"So you're thinking three, maybe four?"

"Plus whoever's running things," Neal said.

They continued to observe and both spotted another server with a skimmer - that made two so far. Monica also noticed something else - that had nothing to do with the case. A few patrons - men - kept looking at them with more than casual interest. then she realized it wasn't _them_ , it was Neal.

Without quite realizing what she was doing, she moved around so she straddled Neal's lap, her skirt riding up to her hips and leaned in to whisper, "You breathe a word of this to anyone, you're on mortgage fraud for a year." Ignoring Neal's surprise, she sealed her mouth over his.

Despite his surprise and confusion, Neal wrapped his arms around her waist, one hand sliding up her back to cradle her head, accepting the invitation when she opened her mouth and - for a few brief seconds - their tongues flirted. It was when he felt his response - and he was positive Monica had as well - that he came to his senses. "Peter...?"

"Look over my shoulder to the booth closest to the bar," Monica said in a low voice. "Recognize them?" She was reminded of how good Neal was when he studied the booth's occupants while pretending interest in the beautiful woman currently occupying his lap.

"Yeah, I do," Neal said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "It's been years but I know them...at least one of them. Did he recognize me?"

"Not sure," Monica said. "Possibly."

"Should we abort?" Neal asked. "We have two of them..."

Monica pulled back a little to look at him. What she saw in his eyes was a mix of confusion, appreciation...and arousal. The thought of teasing him flitted through her mind but she just as quickly dismissed it - they still had to work together when she was back to being a man and she could see the touch of discomfort in his expression. She slid off his lap and picked up her drink. "Finish your wine then we're out of here," she said. "Like you said, we have two of them. We'll run the names on Monday and see what comes up."

Neal groaned softly. "I'd rather you didn't use terms like 'comes up' or 'pops up' or anything that could be construed as sexual," he said.

"Sorry," Monica said, mouth quirking.

Neal gave her a sardonic look and drained his glass then stood, helping her up.

They made their way through the press of bodies to the door and outside. Monica stopped, grabbed Neal's arm then, bracing herself, took off her shoes. "I don't know how women do it," she said. "Walking around in four and five inch heels all day." She gave an exaggerated sigh of relief as she stood barefoot on the sidewalk. Keeping her hand tucked in the crook of Neal's arm, she led him down the street.

"We've picked up a tail," Neal said a few minutes later.

"Yeah, I know," Monica said. "Our friends from the club. You'll have to tell me how you know this guy."

"Should we lose them?"

"No place _to_ lose them really," Monica said. "But we can take a shortcut." She pulled him into an alley and they heard footsteps hurry toward them.

"Hey Caffrey!"

They stopped and turned around, seeing the three men who'd been watching them in the club. Monica felt a brief flash of anger as they looked at her salaciously then she found it a little amusing.

"Always did have an eye for the ladies, Caffrey," the one in the middle said. "And I must say you picked a good one this time."

"She picked me actually," Neal said. "Been a long time, Jordan."

"Not that long, Caffrey," Jordan said. "Not long enough for me to forget you owe me close to half a mil from the last job we worked together."

"I gave you your cut," Neal said. "You ran through it during a weekend in Vegas. I told you poker wasn't your game."

"That's not what I remember," Jordan said. "And what I remember is all that counts."

"Neal, close your eyes," Monica said as the three came closer.

"Won't stop us from kicking his ass, little lady," Jordan said.

"That's not why I told him to," Monica said right before the alley was filled with an intense white light. When it faded, she said, "You can open them now. It's safe."

Neal cracked his eyes open and saw Jordan and his cohorts sprawled in the alley, unconscious. "I am so glad you can multitask," he said as they made their way out.

"I bet you are," Monica said, amused. They walked a few blocks then she said, "I picked you, huh?"

Neal shrugged. "You could say that," he said. "You picked me to help you catch Hagan, you picked me to be your partner...and you picked me to be your friend."

"Well, you're worth it," Monica said.

"Is that Monica talking or Peter?" Neal asked.

She looked up at him with a soft smile. "Both," she said. She saw the thoughtful, slightly troubled expression he wore and waited for him to speak.

"What happened back there, in the club...it's not going to make it weird, is it?"'

"Do you remember what you said when I got sick? When you helped me get the fever down?" she asked. Neal nodded. "I won't let it if you don't," she said. "I had your back in a way that wasn't obvious. I just wish I'd noticed sooner and gotten you out."

"Oh, so you regret the kiss?" Neal asked, mock affronted.

Monica chuckled. "Honestly, I can't say I do," she said. "But I meant it, you breathe a word of this to anyone, you'll be on mortgage fraud for a year."

"In case you forgot, I can't tell anyone," Neal said. "Besides, _you_ kissed _me_."

"And you kissed back," Monica said.

"You caught me by surprise and...well..." Neal indicated her appearance. "What did you expect?" He paused a moment. "You're telling Elizabeth?"

"You know I don't keep secrets from her," Monica said. "She'll understand."

 

"So, you kissed my husband," Elizabeth said when Neal came to Sunday brunch. "How was it?"

Neal looked at his partner, who looked like his normal self, and saw his mouth twitch before he raised a brow. "Better than I thought it'd be...not that I've thought about it..." he said. "He _did_ tell you _he_ kissed _me_ , didn't he?"

"Relax, Neal," Elizabeth said. "I'm not mad. Peter explained the situation. Besides, I know how gorgeous he was."

"He was," Neal agreed. "So you understand that I had the...expected reaction."

"You didn't tell me that," Elizabeth said to Peter.

"I thought it was implied," Peter said.

"And it won't get weird?" Elizabeth asked Neal.

Neal looked between the two of them, neither seeming fazed by the fact that he'd kissed his partner, woman though he was at the time. "I'll...try not to let it," he said.

Elizabeth studied him a moment then asked Peter to walk Satchmo. He went without protest, getting the leash and calling the dog. "You have feelings for Monica, don't you?" she asked when the door closed.

"But I shouldn't," Neal said, not denying it. "I mean, Christ, she's Peter, my partner. I was supposed to make sure he didn't get lost..."

"What do you mean, get lost?" Elizabeth asked, a frown touching her brow.

Neal rubbed his face. "The last time he was Monica - when we told Moz - and she...he was flirting with us, he went to change back because he said he felt himself slipping, seeing me as an attractive man."

"But you are."

"He said it was more visceral," Neal said. "He was seeing me like a woman would, not like my male partner. And I was able to think of him that way until Monica kissed me. And she did that because my past almost came back to bite me in the ass." He sighed. "I don't want it to get weird, Elizabeth. He's your husband and my partner, my friend," he said. "But I couldn't help thinking about it yesterday...all _day_ yesterday."

Elizabeth sat back in her chair. "You'd like to have a relationship with her," she said.

"But I can't. I'd never hurt you that way and neither would Peter," Neal said. He shook his head. "I'll get a handle on what I'm feeling," he said. "He never needs to know."

"I don't like keeping secrets from him," Elizabeth said. "That's not how our marriage works."

"I know," Neal said. "But I'm asking you to. I told you I don't want it to get weird and I don't but if he knows about how I feel about his...alter ego, it might. And that will affect the work and our partnership."

Elizabeth saw how uncomfortable the conversation was making him so she changed the subject, deciding she could keep Neal's secret. "So, did Giselle's live up to the hype?" she asked, refilling their coffee cups.

"The place was packed," Neal said. "And the line stretched around the block. But the music wasn't deafening - we didn't have to yell to be heard and the drinks were reasonably priced for the quality." He sipped his coffee. "But, if the cops had shown up, they'd have been tempted to arrest half the people there for committing acts of public indecency."

"Including you?"

Neal's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "What we did was mild compared to what was happening on the dance floor," he said. "We just kissed...others were practically having sex."

Elizabeth saw his eyes darken a little. "You're going to have to compartmentalize on this," she said. "Maybe think of Monica as separate from Peter, a woman you had a date with before she had to leave town."

Neal sighed. "Yeah," he said. He huffed out a laugh. "And once again, he managed to surprise me. I never even thought to imagine he was such a good kisser."

"Oh, I know how good he is," Elizabeth said impishly. "Too bad he can't flirt worth a damn though."

"At least not as a man," Neal said.

"Have you teased him about it?"

"I've been tempted," Neal said. "But after this, I don't think I should. What really gets me is how fast it happened. One minute, we were sitting there, trying to see how many of the servers had skimmers then the next, Monica's in my lap..." He paused. "The last time something like this happened to me was with Kate. You know, that instant connection."

"What if..." Elizabeth started after a long moment. "What if you _could_ date Monica?"

"I can't because I know she's Peter and it wouldn't be fair to either of you. Besides, wouldn't that really be his decision? He sees me as his partner but not as a romantic one."

"It just seems so unfair, that's all," Elizabeth said.

"One thing I learned a long time ago is life's not fair," Neal said. "If it was, I would have had the hero cop for a father, maybe even become a cop myself. All things considered, life's treated me pretty well. I've got you, Peter, Moz and June for a family, friends and colleagues at the Bureau...not bad for a convicted felon."

"Everything all right?" Peter asked, coming in with Satchmo.

"Everything's fine, hon," Elizabeth said.

Peter noticed Neal don his 'con smile' but said nothing as he unclipped the leash and hung it up. Neal stood, finishing his coffee. "I should get going," he said. "Thank you for brunch, Elizabeth. And Peter, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Is everything really okay?" Peter asked after Neal left. "I haven't seen that particular smile of his in a long time."

"What smile?" Elizabeth asked, taking the cups into the kitchen.

"The one he has when he's trying to convince you everything's fine when it really isn't," Peter said.

Elizabeth sighed. "He told me something in confidence," she said. "Something he has to work through."

"And he couldn't tell me?"

"He needed a woman's perspective and you're not Monica right now," Elizabeth said.

"I don't have a woman's perspective even when I am," Peter said. "Any hints?"

"I wish I could but I know how good you are at putting the pieces together, I know how good your gut is. If I tell you anything, you could probably figure it out. And right now, at least, he doesn't want you to know." She busied herself washing the brunch dishes for a few minutes then asked, "Neal said he enjoyed that kiss, did you?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I did," Peter said, leaning against the island.

"And it wasn't just a peck on the lips."

"I told you everything that happened that night," Peter said. "It was the best way to keep Neal from being recognized that wouldn't have been obvious. Unfortunately, it didn't work. I wasn't quick enough. We left and they cornered us in an alley so I let loose, knocked them out. Neal went home, I came home and changed back. By the way, that dress and shoes are in your closet."

"Monica's smaller than I am," Elizabeth said. "They wouldn't fit me."

"You're not upset about it, are you?" Peter asked.

"No, no, I understand," Elizabeth said.

"Because if there had been another way..."

"Hon, don't apologize," Elizabeth said. "I probably would have done the same thing. It's just..."

"It threw Neal for a loop," Peter said. "He's my partner, we're friends but Monica kissed him, _I_ kissed him and he knows that. He also enjoyed it despite knowing that Monica was actually me in a very sophisticated disguise."

"You can't tell him I told you," Elizabeth said.

"You didn't," Peter said. "I just know Neal, how he thinks. I wasn't just walking Satch, you know."

"So what will you do?"

Peter let out a sigh. "Follow his lead," he said. "It's all I can do."

 

TBC


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal tries to come to grips with his conflicted feelings then he and Peter have a talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after the previous chapter.

For the next few weeks, that's what Peter did - followed Neal's lead. His partner was his usual self, the banter and teasing the same as always but occasionally Peter caught him looking at him with an expression of mixed embarrassment, uncertainty...and shame. It wasn't there long - less than a second but Peter knew his partner, had studied him for years. No one else noticed or, if they had, didn't ask.

Finally, Peter decided to push - gently. They were parked outside the mansion on Riverside and Peter spoke as Neal moved to get out of the car. "Neal...talk to me."

"Nothing to talk about, Peter," Neal said. "Unless you want to talk about the case."

"That's not what I meant," Peter said. Neal gazed at him a moment and he saw that expression flicker across his face.

"It's not affecting the work," Neal said, knowing Peter saw it.

"No, but it _is_ affecting you," Peter said.

"When did I get so easy to read?"

Peter chuckled softly. "I hate to break it to you buddy, but I've been able to read you for a while," he said.

"Yeah, all right," Neal said on a sigh. "But I'm going to need wine if we're having this conversation."

 

Once up in the loft, Neal got Peter a beer and poured himself a glass of wine, trying not to avoid Peter's gaze.

"So, tell me," Peter said.

"Do you have any idea how confusing it is to have romantic feelings for a woman when you know perfectly well she's actually a man and your partner?" Neal asked. "And not only that, those feelings aren't there when he's a man. That's what I've been dealing with since Giselle's."

Peter sighed. "I'm sorry, Neal. I should never have put you in that position," he said. "I didn't think it through, didn't consider what it might do to you...or me, for that matter."

"You?"

"Yeah, me," Peter said. "I have a good idea how confusing it is. I could have found some other way of handling the situation...if I'd wanted to. I could have stopped before I kissed you but, to be honest, I didn't want to. I was attracted to you when I was Monica but as _me_ I'm not. I consider you a friend, my partner but as Monica..." He let out an amused laugh. "Well, for a few seconds, I wanted to drag you back to a dark corner and let you have your way with me."

"But not now," Neal said.

"Oh, heaven's no," Peter said. "That would be..."

"Weird?" Neal suggested, his mouth quirked in a smile.

"One way to put it," Peter said, relieved when he saw the tension he'd noticed over the last few weeks relax.

Neal fiddled with his glass a moment, his gaze steady on Peter. "You know, Elizabeth brought up the possibility of my dating Monica," he said, watching his partner's face.

"And what did you say?"

"I said I couldn't, that it wouldn't be fair to either of you," Neal said. "You'd never do that to her. Yeah, you'd be a woman but you'd still be Peter Burke, Elizabeth's husband...it would still be cheating." He sipped his wine then said, "What really threw me was how fast it happened. I wasn't having any problems remembering who you were...until you were suddenly in my lap. Even threatening me with a year of mortgage fraud if I told anyone it was difficult to remember that you weren't actually a woman...then, well that went completely out the window when you kissed me." He leaned back, letting out a breath. "So, for the past few weeks, I've been trying to reconcile those two disparate versions of you and my feelings for each."

"Well, in all honesty, I wasn't completely unaffected," Peter said. "But it wasn't as...obvious." His mouth quirked. "Yeah, I felt your response and it didn't...doesn't bother me. As you told El, it was expected. Any man would have reacted the same way." He sobered. "And I should thank you."

"What for?"

"If you hadn't stopped that kiss, I think I might have gotten lost," Peter said. "Somewhere in the middle of that kiss, feeling your reaction, I felt myself start to slip...and a tiny part of me, way in the back of my mind, I thought 'Why not?' I'd finally get to have, I don't know, the full Neal Caffrey experience, I guess." He took a drink of his beer. "Then you pulled back and brought me to my senses, brought _me_ back." He studied the other man for a few minutes then said, "There's something else."

"It's just...I haven't felt that way about anyone since Kate," Neal said. "Not Sara, not Rebecca...or Rachel, whatever her real name was. And every time I think about it, I come right up against the fact that Monica isn't real, not in the sense that Kate was, or you or anyone else. Monica is a construct. She doesn't exist unless you want her to."

Peter sighed. "I _am_ sorry, Neal," he said.

"Not your fault. No way you could have known," Neal said. "No way you could have anticipated it. It just happened. We'll chalk it up as a learning experience and try to avoid the circumstances in the future."

"Next time you need a companion, I'll send Kelsey or maybe borrow someone from another division."

"Or you go as someone other than Monica," Neal said. "Patty maybe."

"So we're good?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Neal said. "I think Elizabeth's right. I should think of Monica as someone I had a date with before she left town. Keep her separate from you."

"My wife's a smart woman," Peter said.

"That she is," Neal agreed. He let out an amused breath, relaxing back in his chair. "Is this the strangest partnership ever or what?"

Peter grinned. "Certainly the most unique," he said.

"Yeah, an ex con and a shape-shifting FBI agent who can do magic," Neal said.

"Not shape-shifting except in the most broad sense," Peter said. "I can't do non humans."

"You've tried?"

"Once," Peter said. "Tried being Satch and nothing happened."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Neal said.

"I don't know," Peter said musingly. "Living a dog's life, sleeping most of the day, no responsibilities...sounds nice."

"You'd get bored and start tearing up the furniture," Neal said. "Then Elizabeth would take you to the vet and..." He made a snipping motion with his first two fingers, grinning when Peter winced.

Peter finished his beer and stood. "I should be getting home," he said. "You're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Neal said. "Thanks."

"Any time," Peter said. "See you tomorrow."

 

After that, things were easier between them - not that they hadn't been but Neal no longer had that look of uncertainty, embarrassment and shame when he looked at Peter. Like he'd succeeded in separating Monica from his partner.

 

"So, you shut down that identity theft ring," Elizabeth said a few days later as the three of them sat out on the patio.

"Finally," Peter said. "There were two or three on each shift and they didn't want to talk. Wouldn't tell us who was running it."

"So how'd you find out who it was?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter took a drink of his beer then said, "I went in as Denise, got a job as a server."

"Denise?" Elizabeth asked.

"Sorry I didn't tell you," Peter said. "Either of you. Thought it was better that way. Anyway, second day working, I was approached by the manager. Asked me if I was interested in making some extra cash on the side. All I had to do was get three or four credit card numbers a night and I'd get a grand in return. Got him on audio making the offer. Next day, I put him in cuffs."

"And what does Denise look like?" Neal asked.

"Blonde, brown, about five food six and...well rounded," Peter said, his mouth quirked. "Pretty enough to work there."

"And will we be seeing Denise again?" Neal asked.

"Possibly," Peter said. "Depends on if we need her at some point. But after the last month or so, I think I'll stick to guys. Less hassle."

"And no worries about possible romantic entanglements," Neal said a bit wryly, an acknowledgement of the talk they'd had at the loft.

Elizabeth regarded them for a minute. "I assume the two of you talked," she said.

"Yeah, we cleared the air," Neal said. He shrugged a little. "Monica is...a pleasant memory now. Although sometimes I wish I could see her again."

"You could if you want," Peter said evenly.

Neal shook his head. "No, it's too much of a risk - for both of us I think. It's best if she stays in the past."

"Too bad really," Peter said. "She was my best work." He gave Elizabeth's hand a squeeze. "Of course, I had help..."

"Like I told Neal, I just made suggestions, You did the rest," she said.

 

Shortly after, Neal took his leave and Peter and Elizabeth sat quietly out back, listening as the night fell, just enjoying each other's company. "I've been thinking," Elizabeth said, breaking the silence.

"About?"

"Monica...and Neal."

"Hon?"

"Would it really be so bad if they were together?" Elizabeth asked.

"On the surface...perhaps not," Peter said after a moment. "But Neal would know the truth. He'd know - he _does_ know - she's just a construct, she isn't _real_. That's what he was having trouble with. How he could have those feelings for her but not for me. It wouldn't be fair to him. Then there's you. He likes you - loves you even - too much to do that to you. I couldn't either, you know that. There's also the fact that I might not come back."

"You'd leave me?"

"No, that I might not be _me_ afterwards. That I'd stay Monica." He sighed. "I was _this_ close that night at the club but Neal...after that kiss - _during_ that kiss - he remembered who I really was. I'm his partner, his friend, not really the woman who practically crawled into his lap. If he hadn't..." He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You never told me it was so risky for you," Elizabeth said.

"I didn't want to worry you," Peter said. "It's not really a risk if I can stay focused but kissing Neal, well..."

"But you don't have those feelings for him, do you?"

"Not as me," Peter said. "But as Monica, yeah a little. But I think every woman he spends time with does." He fished out his wallet and removed an ID. It showed a black haired, blue eyed woman with elfin features, mouth curved in a slight smirk. "Don't know why I kept this," he said. "Souvenir, I guess." He placed it on the table and relaxed into his chair. "Yeah, I think I'll stick to impersonating men," he said. "It's easier and as Neal said, less risk of romantic entanglements."

"Unless some woman falls for you," Elizabeth said.

"Easily remedied. All I'd have to say is I have the most gorgeous woman waiting for me at home," Peter said. "No one else could even tempt me."

Elizabeth gave him a sly look and said impishly, "Why Peter Burke, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were flirting with me."

"Was I? I thought I was just telling the truth," Peter said. "You like that about me."

"I do," Elizabeth said, sitting in his lap. "So, tell me, how were you sitting in Neal's lap at the club? And how did you kiss him?"

"It was like this," Peter said, shifting her around until she straddled his legs. "Then I did this..." He claimed her mouth in a deep kiss, his hand sliding up her back to cradle her head as Neal had done to Monica.

Elizabeth was slightly breathless when he released her. "Well, no wonder Neal fell a little in love with her," she said. "If she kissed like _that_..." She moved until she sat across his lap, her legs to one side, and laid her head on his shoulder. "Will you?" she asked.

Peter didn't need to ask. He opened his hand and soft, colored lights danced across the patio and he saw her smile.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's been kidnapped. Can his magic help him escape?

Peter woke with a start, immediately realizing he wasn't at home. Where he was resembled a concrete box with no windows and a steel door. Other than himself, there was only a speaker in the room, mounted on the wall. He saw no cameras but that didn't mean there weren't any. Ignoring the door for the time being, he went around the room, looking closely at each protuberance or indentation.

"Agent Burke. You're awake, I see."

Peter kept himself from startling but the words told him what he suspected - there was at least one camera in the room.

"I won't bother asking who you are or where I am so I'll just skip to what do you want," Peter said.

"I want you to show me your magic."

That startled a laugh. "My what?"

"Your magic, Agent Burke. I've spoken to a number of people who've told some...interesting stories."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"That you can render people unconscious with light. That you can neutralize gravity."

"I agree those are interesting stories but that's all they are," Peter said, going over to the speaker. Looking more closely, he saw the lens of a camera hidden in the grille.

"So you deny having those abilities?"

"Of course I do," Peter said.

"Would you still..." There was a pause. "You have a lovely wife, Agent Burke. Elizabeth, isn't it? And I understand you're quite close to your partner, Neal Caffrey."

Peter's blood ran cold even as his hand grew warm. "Don't beat around the bush," he said. "Tell me what you want."

"I have use of your particular skills, Agent Burke. Fail to comply and your wife won't be quite so beautiful. But perhaps a demonstration of my seriousness."

There was a spitting sound and Peter felt a sting in his leg. Looking down, he saw blood begin to ooze from a small hole in his thigh. Balling up his fist, he smashed the camera, blinding his captor and heard cursing. Peter smirked then went over to the door. Studying the lock, he was glad he'd taken to carrying a set of lockpicks after he and Neal had been held in Glen Cove. He didn't bother checking for his phone. He'd known as soon as he woke that it was gone. Crouching down, he slid the picks from his sleeve and started to work.

"What do you think you're doing, Agent Burke?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Peter said. "Do you?"

"I can guess."

That confirmed to Peter that he'd disabled the only camera. He brushed a hand over his leg and the bleeding stopped. "So tell me, who told you those stories?"

"Matthew Keller, Senator Hamilton, James Rayburn among others."

"First of all, Keller is a notorious liar," Peter said, feeling the tumblers start to fall into place. "He's a con man for Christ's sake. Second, Hamilton was busted for taking bribes. And he's a politician. Can you really say you've met an honest politician? As for the other...Rayburn? Well, he needed some excuse to explain why he couldn't hold us." The last tumbler clicked into place and he eased the door open. Outside was an empty hallway - at least it looked empty. Peter didn't trust it. "Just for the sake of argument, what would you have me do if I actually _did_ have magic?"

"You _do_ have magic, Agent Burke and you'll use it as I see fit unless you want your loved ones to come to harm. Am I understood?"

Peter felt flames curl around his fingers but quickly put them out and peeked out into the corridor - still empty. Dropping a hand in front of him, he saw the faint ripple that indicated he was invisible.

"Now Agent, we'll discuss..."

Peter ignored him as he crept into the hall and down to a junction that turned right. Hearing footsteps, he instinctively flattened himself against the wall, watching as two men approached then passed him on their way to his former cell.

"No sir, he's gone...no sign of him...should we keep looking?...yes sir."

When the men approached him again, Peter fell in behind them, matching his tread to theirs as they returned the way they came. They led him to what appeared to be a security office, screens lining the walls, all but one showing a room with a single occupant. The odd one showed only electronic snow. Sitting at a console was a silver haired man with distinguished features, marred by a long scar along the right cheek.

"Sorry Mr. Devereaux, we couldn't find him," one of the men said. "No sign of him anywhere."

'Mr. Devereaux' flipped a switch. "Agent Burke, surely you realize that I or my men will find you," he said. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You'll return to the room and we'll discuss what I want you to do. You have twenty minutes or your wife will suffer the consequences."

Peter thought quickly. He had twenty minutes to get out, find a phone and warn Elizabeth or... He gestured and the three men froze. Backing out of the room, he looked around, spotting a door at the end of the corridor, praying it led to the outside.

It did.

He slipped out, quickly scanning his surroundings. It appeared to be an abandoned warehouse facility. There were four or five other buildings in addition to the one he'd just left - roofs rusted, windows broken, doors hanging ajar. It was the squeal of a radio that alerted him to more guards. Ducking around the side of the building, he watched as two more men walked past, obviously looking for something - or someone. Looking around the corner, he took a better look around. He seemed to be at the far end of the property, the main road - at rough estimate - a quarter mile away. In the distance was the familiar skyline of Manhattan - too far to walk.

He stood back against the wall and thought. First order of business was getting to a phone. His was gone so that meant using a borrowed one. But not as himself. Closing his eyes, he felt his features change, his body shrink and develop modest curves. Though he had no reflective surface to see the result, he knew what he looked like.

Feeling her features settle, she opened her eyes and looked down at the now oversized suit she wore. Stifling a sigh, she ditched the jacket, pants, shoes and socks, stuffing them through a broken window in the adjacent building. She removed the tie and wrapped it around her waist like a belt, the shirt more than long enough to pass as a dress. Rolling up the sleeves, she dropped the invisibility after making sure she didn't have company.

Now for the best approach. She continued down the side of the building, her plan to approach the occupied building from the direction of the access road. Disoriented, a little frightened, maybe a story about being roofied and dumped. She came to the end of the buildings, messed her hair up, a little dirt on her clothes and she was ready. She looked back toward where she'd been held and saw two men coming toward her - different from the first two so that made at least six. Taking a deep breath, she stumbled out from behind cover, purposely tripping.

"Miss? Miss!"

She saw the men hurry over, looking concerned as they helped her up.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I...I think so," she said. "Where...what is this place?"

"You don't know where you are?"

"No...I was..." She paused, frowning. "I was at the bar with some friends..." She took a sharp breath. "Oh my God! Nick! Please, I need to call my boyfriend..." She suddenly doubled over, coughing.

"Come with us, Miss..."

"Hayward. Monica Hayward," she said, catching her breath.

"All right, Miss Hayward," one of the men said. "Come with us and we'll get you something to drink, okay. Then you can call your boyfriend."

"Oh, thank you!"

They led her back to the building and inside to the security office and she unfroze the men inside under the guise of brushing back her hair. She knew it was longer than the twenty minute limit she'd set herself but she didn't care.

"Mr. Devereaux, sir?"

"What is it?"

"We found this woman wandering the property, sir."

Devereaux turned to face them, his somewhat hard expression softening a little as he saw the slightly bedraggled woman standing in the doorway. "How can I help you, my dear?"

"Something to drink please," Monica said. "And, if someone has a phone I can borrow?"

Devereaux gestured to one of the men, who got her a bottle of water and handed her his phone. Monica cracked the lid and took a long drink, only then realizing how thirsty she was. Setting it aside, she quickly dialed Neal's number. "Nick, it's Monica," she said when he answered. "Yeah, I need you to come pick me up. No, I'm not there...pretty sure some asshole roofied me. Hang on." She asked Devereaux where they were and passed on the information to Neal. "When can you get here? Okay, I'll meet you out front. Bye bye." She handed the phone back to its owner with a nod of thanks.

"What happened, if I may ask?" Devereaux asked, waving her into a chair.

"I'm not really sure," she said, furrowing her brow as she sat. "I was having a girls' night out. Last thing I remember was some guy hitting on me then leaving the club not long after. After that..." She shrugged. "I woke up on the side of the road and this was the closest place to see if I could find a phone." She looked around the room curiously. "So, Mr. Devereaux? What kind of business are you in? Security?"

"Something like that," Devereaux said. "And you?"

Monica shrugged. "Daddy's rich so I really don't have to work," she said. "But I do a lot of volunteering. Daddy says it keeps me out of trouble."

"And your boyfriend?"

"Oh, he's an artist," Monica said. "Really good, too. He painted me a reproduction of a Haustenberg a few years ago."

When she estimated Neal to be about five minutes out, she thanked everyone for their help and - to her consternation - Devereaux himself walked her out. In the distance, she saw the Taurus turn onto the access road and come to a stop about twenty feet away. As the driver's side door opened, she closed the distance at a run and threw herself into Neal's arms as he got out.

"Do _not_ show your face," she said in his ear.

"Peter?"

"The older man back there? Knows about my magic and threatened you and El if I didn't cooperate with him." She paused. "He knows what you look like."

"All right, how do we do this?" Neal asked.

"Kiss me," Monica said. "I told him you were my boyfriend."

Neal's mouth quirked and she scowled. The scowl was erased when Neal kissed her and deftly maneuvered them until his back was to the men. "Let's get you home," he said, releasing her.

Monica got in and scooted over to the passenger seat as Neal slid behind the wheel. "We need to get a team out here," she said as they made their way to the main road. "HRT wouldn't hurt."

"There are others?" Neal asked.

"Almost a dozen, by my count," Monica said.

"All right, I'll let Jones know," Neal said. He glanced at her, a smile quirking his mouth. "You look good in just a man's shirt," he teased.

"My suit was too big," Monica said. "Had to ditch it." She sighed. "I liked that suit."

"That suit was terrible," Neal said.

"You say that about all my suits." She leaned her head back. "How long did he have me?" she asked.

"Since after work yesterday," Neal said, turning toward the city. "Surveillance cameras show you being grabbed by two men outside the office."

"Give me your phone. I need to call El."

"Already did," Neal said. "Right after you called me." He was quiet for a few minutes then asked, "Why Monica?"

"You wouldn't have recognized me if I was someone else," Monica said. "I couldn't be you or El and I couldn't be a man or my story wouldn't have worked."

"What story?"

"Roofied at a club and dumped," Monica said. Seeing his almost carefully blank expression, she said, "Listen Neal, I'd change back but..." She gestured at herself and what she was wearing - namely a man's dress shirt cinched by a tie around the waist and a pair of boxers.

"It's fine, Peter. I understand," Neal said. His mouth twitched in amusement. "Like I said, you look good."

"Add this to the list of things you will _not_ tease me about," Monica said with a glare.

"I won't," Neal said. "But I can't speak for Elizabeth."

Monica groaned, burying her face in her hands. "And she would," she said which caused Neal to chuckle.

"So what did this guy...?"

"Devereaux,' Monica supplied.

"So what did Devereaux want?" Neal asked, sobering.

"It was clearly implied that I'd use my magic to do things for him or he'd hurt you or El," Monica said.

"He knows about all of it?" Neal asked.

"Not all of it. Just the light and the timestop even though he was wrong about that one,' Monica said. "He called it gravity neutralization."

"Sounds like you make things float around," Neal commented.

"And obviously he doesn't know about the shape change," Monica said. "Or the invisibility." She shifted around to look at him. "And thanks for insisting I keep a set of picks on me," she said.

"Never know when you might need them," Neal said. "I assume you were locked in."

"Yeah, I picked the lock after I busted the camera," Monica said, watching the city get closer. "Went invisible and got out." She didnt mention the twenty minutes she'd been given to comply with Devereaux's demand she return to her cell and how she'd stretched that time into at least half an hour without him being the wiser.

 

They pulled up to the house in Brooklyn to find Elizabeth waiting on the stoop. Monica was hustled inside and upstairs so she could change both her appearance and clothes. "He's not hurt?" Elizabeth asked.

"If he was, he fixed it,' Neal said. "I didn't see any bruises or blood."

"So tell me," Elizabeth said, grabbing a bottle of wine, two glasses and a beer.

"All he could tell me is that the man who had him wanted to use him for his magic," Meal said. "If he didn't cooperate, he'd come after us. Unfortunately for him and fortunately for Peter, he doesn't know everything Peter can do."

"What does he know?"

"The lights and the timestop," Neal said. "But Peter said he got that mostly wrong. He called it gravity neutralization or something."

"So he doesn't know Peter can freeze people or things," Elizabeth said, handing him a glass of wine.

"I need to call Jones," Neal said. "Peter wasn't the only one taken."

Peter came downstairs as Neal finished up and grabbed the beer. "Jones?"

"Insisted on leading the HRT team. They're on the way."

Peter nodded. "I need you to do a sketch of him," he said. "Devereaux. We'll run the picture and the name and see if we get any hits."

"I didn't get a good look at him, remember?"

"But I did," Peter said, sitting across from his partner.

Before Neal could ask, Elizabeth found a pencil and paper, setting it in front of him. "Whenever you're ready," he said.

Instead of describing Devereaux, Peter changed his face to his likeness - the silver hair, distinguished features, the scar on the right cheek.

"Looks a little creepy," Elizabeth said as she watched Neal work. "The scar."

When Neal finished, he slid the sketch over to Peter. "That him?"

"Yep, that's him," Peter said, resuming his own face. "I'm assuming the name is an alias but we'll see what we get."

"I'll ask Moz to see what he can find," Neal said. "That scar is pretty distinctive."

 

The next morning at the office, after accepting the welcome back slaps on the back, Peter gave Jones the sketch to run after getting an update - all prisoners had been released, the guards were in custody but Devereaux had managed to slip away. Peter sighed. "See what you can get off that," he said, indicating the sketch. "Let me know if you find anything." 

Once in his office, Peter ran the name. As he waited for the results, Neal joined him. "Moz is on it," he said. "Says he already has a few ideas, especially after I told him about the scar. He'll check into it and get back to us."

It took a few hours but Peter got the results as he and Neal sat in his office, reviewing their testimony for an upcoming trial. "Anything?" Neal said.

"A few hits," Peter said. "But not from us."

"Interpol?"

"Yeah, one from Germany. Berlin. Polizei put out an alert on him in connection to several disappearances and suspicious deaths, followed by France, Spain and the U.K. People get taken, usually off the street then a rash of crimes - some petty, some serious. When the perps were taken into custody, they claim they were forced to or else the wife, husband, sometimes kids would get hurt."

"I take it some didn't comply," Neal said.

"That's where the suspicious deaths come in," Peter said. "All described one Mr. Harlan Devereaux." They were interrupted when his phone rang. He frowned a little when he saw it was Elizabeth. "Hon?"

"Agent Burke."

"You son of a bitch!" Peter gritted. "What did you do to my wife?"

"Nothing...yet. Did you really think there would be no consequences? Though I must congratulate you. You're the first to ever escape. Now, you'll do exactly as I tell you or your wife will die. You'll go to the Powell..."

Peter stopped listening and got the mirror from the drawer, ignoring for the moment Neal's questioning look. He handed the phone to Neal, barely registering the indistinct instructions as the mirror clouded, cleared as he tried to get a fix on Elizabeth's location.

 

Elizabeth sat on the rough wooden bench, clutching a blanket around her as she listened to her captor - Devereaux, she knew, recognizing him from Neal's sketch. He wanted Peter to rob the Powell in exchange for her release. She knew Peter wouldn't, knew Peter would come for her, his words coming back to her - _I'll always find you, no matter what._ Finally, Devereaux hung up and pocketed her phone. "Well, Mrs. Burke...may I call you Elizabeth?"

"No, you may not," Elizabeth said, glowering at him.

Devereaux smirked. "You've got spirit. I admire that in a woman." His expression hardened. "Your husband had better do as he's told or he won't like the result." He left, locking the door behind him, leaving her alone.

 

"Peter?" Neal asked, seeing his partner become frustrated.

"I...I can't," Peter said, scrubbing his face.

"Peter, look at me," Neal said firmly. "Yes, you can. You _always_ find her. Always. Now, clear your head and focus."

Peter took a deep breath and refocused. Again, the mirror clouded and cleared and he began once more to get a fix on his wife's location. That time it worked. Within minutes, he found her. Pocketing the mirror, he said, "Let's get this bastard."

 

Elizabeth didn't know when she'd dozed off, laying down on the narrow bench, but the next thing she was aware of was a hand on her shoulder - a very familiar hand. "Peter?" she whispered almost silently.

"Not a sound, okay Hon?"

Elizabeth nodded almost imperceptibly and sat up, not seeing anyone. "Now what?"

"I'm going to take you to Neal and he'll get you out."

"What about you?"

"I won't be long, I promise. Now, up you go."

Elizabeth stood, dropping the blanket and came face to face with her husband. "No cameras?"

"He wouldn't have had time to install any," Peter said. "Besides, this place barely has power." He led her a mercifully short distance to a side door and eased it open and Neal pulled her out, a finger placed over his lips. Once the two were away, Peter returned to the room and sat, pulling the blanket around him. Minutes later, Elizabeth Burke sat on the bench. Just in time. Seconds later, Devereaux returned.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"I've been worse places." She studied him a moment. "Do you really think my husband won't find you and catch you?"

"He'll try," Devereaux said. "He's not the only one looking for me and I doubt he'll succeed where others have failed."

"He caught Neal Caffrey."

"After three years," Devereaux said contemptuously.

"Still caught him. The only one to even get close. Everyone else was just chasing their tails."

"Caffrey made a mistake. I don't." Suddenly, he was peering closely at her. "You know, I've never considered other uses for you," he said musingly. "I know a number of men who'd like to...get to know you. You're a lovely woman, Mrs. Burke."

Unseen by Devereaux, she slipped her hand from under the blanket and flicked her fingers out, a blinding light filled the room and she watched him slump to the floor, unconscious.

Peter stood and shoved him to his stomach. Pulling out his cuffs, he snapped them around his wrists, maybe a little too tightly. He leaned in and whispered, "No one else caught you because they don't have my advantages, you sick fuck." He retrieved Elizabeth's phone and called Neal, asking him to bring the car around.

When Devereaux came to in the car, Peter ignored the outrage and the questions as he drove to the Federal Building. Once there, he shoved him into a holding cell and left him to stew. He had more important things to do - like go home to be with his wife.

 

"So what will happen to him?' Neal asked as the three of them relaxed in the Burke's living room.

"I'll hand him over to Interpol, let them have him," Peter said.

"You don't want the collar?" Neal asked, a bit surprised.

"A goodwill gesture," Peter said. "Never know when we might need their help or cooperation."

 

It was getting late when Neal took his leave, bidding them good night and Elizabeth settled against Peter. "You know, I have to agree with Neal," she said a bit teasingly.

"About what?" Peter asked.

"You did look good in just a man's dress shirt."

Peter groaned softly and let his head fall back. "I don't suppose it would do any good to ask you not to tease me about that," he said. "It was out of necessity, not preference."

Elizabeth giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I promise not to that often," she said.

"Thank you."

"But I won't promise not to talk about it with Neal," Elizabeth added.

Peter sighed in defeat, knowing he had no recourse. "How did this become my life?" he asked but without heat.

"Well first, you met me and I agreed to marry you," Elizabeth said.

"For which I'm eternally grateful."

"And second, you took the deal with Neal," Elizabeth said. "So really, it's all your fault."

Peter's mouth quirked. "I suppose it is," he said. "I accept your reasoning, Mrs. Burke. Just don't tell _Neal_ it's all my fault, okay?"

"Our secret," Elizabeth said. "Just between us."

Peter raised his head. "you know what else can be just between us?" he asked. Elizabeth shook her head. "A nice, cozy fire," he said. "It _has_ been getting a little chilly at night." A fire appeared in his hand and he tossed it into the fireplace, into the waiting kindling, where it quickly spread to the logs sitting there.

"Very nice, Agent Burke," Elizabeth said. "And very cozy." She laid her head on his shoulder and let out a contented sigh.

"The lights?" Peter asked, snugging an arm around her.

"Yes, please."

Peter smiled and opened his hand, colored lights joining that from the fire.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes undercover...and almost doesn't come back.

Peter scanned the casefile, ideas of how to get inside the operation they were investigating running through his mind. A high end escort service was blackmailing high profile and/or rich men. Thoughts of the Jennings case flitted through his mind but he dismissed them - they weren't after a dirty politician, just the girls and their manager.

"So how do we get in?" Neal asked.

"Not sure," Peter said. "Unfortunately, you haven't accidentally volunteered someone."

"Ah yes, the Jennings case," Neal said, remembering when he'd gone under as a political fixer and had explained the pictures of Diana and Peter as the agent seeing a prostitute on the side. It still surprised him at how easily Diana had gone along with it - with a 'Sure. Why not?' attitude. He briefly wondered if the sketch he'd done in the hotel room was still behind that painting. He leaned back in the chair. "I can think of one way," he said. "Patty. Or Denise."

"Not Monica?" Peter asked. "You have to admit she's my best work."

"They're not fixed in appearance, are they?" Neal asked. When Peter shook his head, he said, "So...glam one of them up." His mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled mischievously. "I'll help." To his surprise, Peter nodded. "Really?"

"Really," Peter said. "You have a good eye. I can use that." He gave Neal a mock glower. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

"Hey, you _told_ me to kiss you the last time," Neal protested but couldn't stop the grin. "You literally threw yourself into my arms."

"To keep Devereaux from recognizing you," Peter reminded him. He sat back. "So yeah, Patty or Denise." He thought for a moment then said, "Patty I think."

"Good choice," Neal said, then his brow furrowed a little. "Ummm, Peter...?"

"What?"

"What's with your mug?" Neal indicated the half full coffee mug that was floating two or three inches off the desk. Experimentally, he ran his hand under it and felt no resistance. Almost hesitantly, he grabbed it and, for a brief second, felt it weightless before it settled in his hand. "That's new," he said, setting it down.

"Yeah, it is," Peter said, sounding curious rather than alarmed. "That's never happened before."

"Another ability?"

"Could be but I'd have to experiment a little to be sure," Peter said. "But not right now and certainly not here," He tilted his head toward the busy bullpen.

Neal nodded and turned his attention back to the case. "So how do we get..." He looked through the details again to get the manager's name. "...Mr. Justin Everhart to hire Patty? I doubt he's taking applications."

"I'll talk to him...well, Patty will talk to him, spin a story about how she's in need of cash and she'd heard from a friend of a friend that he paid very well for...providing certain services."

Neal studied him for a long few minutes, almost absently pressing the mug down when it began floating again, something in his gut twisting a little. "Are you sure you're prepared to go that far?" he asked. "I want to have my partner back after this, not to mention Elizabeth..."

"Blackmail doesn't necessarily require sex," Peter said. "You know as well as I do, that it works because the victim doesn't want something known. An embezzler doesn't want it known he's skimming money, a married man doesn't want it known he's cheating, a CEO or politician doesn't want it known that he's taking bribes." He regarded the other man, seeing the concern and worry he wasn't really making an effort to hide. "Besides, if I can get in, I'll have you in my ear to remind me."

The slight tension in Neal's shoulders relaxed and he gave Peter a long suffering look. "You'll stick me in the van?" he asked. "That's just unfair."

"No one else knows about Patty...or Denise...or Monica," Peter reminded him.

"But the van..." Neal protested half heartedly. He sighed, thinking. "So how will we explain us monitoring a woman who has zero connection to the Bureau?"

It was Peter's turn to sigh. "Yeah, that would take some doing," he said. "So, let's brainstorm. Put that imagination of yours to work."

It took until almost lunch for Neal to come up with an alternate solution. "We won't monitor Patty," he said. "It'll be me. I go undercover as a likely target. That way, there'll be two of us - one on the inside, the other on the outside."

Peter considered the proposition for a few minutes, turning it over in his mind, looking at it from different angles. The idea had merit. Finally, he nodded. "I'll get with the tech guys, have them give you a background that'll pass inspection," he said. "Any idea for the hook?"

"Unfaithful husband," Neal said. "Infidelity clause in the pre-nup. She gets nothing if she does, he loses half if he does."

"Name?"

"Always had a soft spot for Nick," Neal said. "Plus there's the added benefit that he worked for Adler."

"I'll have them put that in the resume," Peter said.

"Now to what Patty should look like," Neal said, snagging a sheet of printer paper and a pencil then clearing space on the desk. At Peter's inquiring look, he said, "You want to get started ASAP, right?"

"We still have to get with the techs," Peter said. "No rush."

"You'll be going in first," Neal said. "We can't let them suspect there's a connection between us. Both of us showing up at the same time might be too much of a coincidence for them."

"All right but the sketch can wait," Peter said. "Besides, I think it's only fair that El get some input on this."

"So invite me to dinner and we can do it then," Neal said.

 

That evening over dinner, they filled Elizabeth in on what they planned, assuaging her concerns that she might not get her husband back - Peter promising he'd take all precaution to stay himself in the guise of Patty.

"You've never..." Elizabeth started, raising a brow at Neal.

"I'd like to think I'm not that crass," Neal said. "Besides, blackmail is so...inelegant. It takes no imagination to use someone's secrets against them."

Elizabeth gave him a nod. "Just wanted to be sure," she said.

As Elizabeth washed up, Neal brought out his sketchbook and pastels, quickly drawing Patty's face from the one occasion he'd seen it. "Hair a little longer, I think," Elizabeth said, looking over his shoulder.

"Keep the green eyes?"

"Yeah, but darker, more emerald," Peter said from beside him.

"Hair light or dark?"

Elizabeth and Peter exchanged a look. "We want her to be memorable, right?" Peter asked. "Let's go with just short of platinum."

"I think they call it towheaded," Elizabeth said.

"Just a hint of a tan..." Neal said. "Eyes just a little narrower. Like she has a bit of Asian in her."

"A little fuller in the mouth," Elizabeth suggested. When Neal finished the sketch, she said, "She gives Monica a run for her money."

"I think I'm a little jealous," Neal said. "I won't be the prettiest on the team." He sat the sketch aside and leaned back. "But yeah, she'll be very memorable. Everhart would be a fool not to hire her."

 

The tech team had Neal's background done in nearly record time. Evidently the higher ups were eager to shut the operation down as quickly as possible and even though Peter could see Neal was almost itching to play his part, he agreed that Patty should have at least a day to get inside.

It was laughably easy for her to do so. Everhart took one look at the green eyed blonde and offered her a job on the spot. Since the team would be monitoring only Neal, Peter had to make sure he had some way to communicate with his partner - and not for the case. So he could make sure he could help ground him, keep him Peter Burke. What caused Peter the most worry was the fact that he'd have to do more than just kiss the potential targets. But he hoped he wouldn't have to actually have sex. Elizabeth knew what the job might entail, knew he wouldn't cheat on her willingly but Peter knew himself well enough to know he'd feel some guilt about it. He still remembered the Black Widow case and how guilty he'd felt and they'd just kissed.

 

Patty was sitting at the hotel bar, pretending to have a drink when Everhart laid a hand on her shoulder. "Patty, I'd like you to meet Nick. Nick Halden."

Patty turned and nearly dropped her drink when she saw Neal, saw him swiftly cover the shock he felt and somehow managed to return his smile. "Nick, a pleasure," she said.

"Should we go someplace a bit more...private?" Neal asked, brushing a kiss over her fingers.

Patty gave him a nod and let him escort her to the elevator, not daring to say anything because the team was listening. She was reminded of how well he knew her when he discreetly removed the earpiece and closed it in his fist. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you planned this," she said.

"I swear I didn't know he'd set me up with you," Neal said, trying but failing to cover his discomfort completely. "I saw no fewer than four blondes in the bar."

"I know. Not your fault," Patty said. She was quiet as they rode up to the third floor. "You realize he'll be watching," she said. "I had very specific instructions on which room to use."

"No blindspots?"

"I don't know," Patty said. "You're my first...customer."

"We'll have to find them and put on a show without actually...you know," Neal said.

When they came to the room, Patty paused, looking at her partner with concern. "Are you sure you can do this?" she asked.

"I think the question is, are _you_ sure?" Neal asked. "I don't want to chance you forgetting. Or me for that matter."

Patty gave him a nod and took at deep breath before opening the door. The room was richly appointed with plush carpeting, two leather wingback chairs, a small bar...and a king size bed with a mound of throw pillows. "Drink?" Neal asked as Patty perched on the edge of the bed and kicked her shoes off.

"God, yes." She saw Neal's nervousness as he brought two drinks over and sat beside her, suddenly unable to look at her. "Neal..." She waited until he met her gaze. "Just pretend that I'm just someone you're romancing," she said. She sipped her drink and watched as he composed himself and gave her one of his trademark smiles.

"So...cameras?" Neal asked, brushing her lips with his.

"Someplace that shows the bed," she said. "That way, there's no doubt about what happened."

"I'm thinking probably in one of the lights," Neal said. "You know, right overhead." He took her glass and set both aside. Taking her hand, he kissed the inside of her wrist, hearing her breath hitch a little. "Tell me if you start feeling uncomfortable," he whispered in her ear. "...and you really should reciprocate. Otherwise it looks weird."

Patty pulled back and slipped off his jacket before going to work on his shirt, watching his face all the while. When he made no protest, she pulled his shirt off, running her hands over his chest, unable to ignore his reaction...and hers. She looked into blue eyes blown back with arousal and felt an answering response. She claimed his mouth as he ran the zipper of her dress down and nudged it off her shoulders, his hands coming up to cup her breasts.

She felt herself start to slip when Neal lay her down and ran his hand down her side. "Neal..." she whispered, pulling back.

"You okay? Still with me?"

"Yeah, but it was close."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm fine," Patty said. "Just give me a few...but keep going. Still have that show to put on."

Neal looked at her a moment then gave an imperceptible nod before sitting her up and pulling her dress off, leaving her in just a lacy bra and panties. "Elizabeth's?" he asked, unable to stop the teasing note in his voice.

Patty shrugged. "We're the same size, so..."

Neal brushed her hair back. "Now comes the really awkward part," he said, stripping down to his boxer briefs. To make it as realistic as possible, he turned down the bed, pulling the sheets to their waists. They moved as if removing the necessary clothing then Neal moved between her bent knees, taking her by the mouth. Despite how good it felt, he determinedly kept in mind that Patty wasn't who she appeared to be. He almost lost sight of that when he felt her hands on his ass and she arched up against him. He buried his face in her neck and fought for control, holding as still as he could despite the fact that everything in him was screaming at him to finish.

"Nick?"

The question had him looking at her in alarm. Propping himself up, he cupped her face and looked into her eyes, searching for his partner. "Peter?" he whispered, more alarmed...and frightened when she frowned. "Peter...please..." He rolled over and pulled her into his arms. "Peter, you have to remember. The team, me, _Elizabeth_. You're Peter Burke, my partner, my friend, Elizabeth's husband. We don't want to lose you. Please...come back..."

Patty went still, almost holding her breath. Her hand crept up to grasp his shoulder and she let out her breath. "Neal...thank you. I thought..." She shuddered.

"Don't scare me like that again," Neal said tensely but also relieved.

"Elizabeth doesn't hear a word about this," Patty said.

"I'd rather do nothing but paperwork for the next six months than worry her," Neal said. He let out a breath. "So, you think Everhart will buy it?"

"I hope so," Patty said. "That was too close."

"Tell me about it."

To lighten the mood, she pulled back and said, "You realize you still have to pay me, right?"

"I'll pay you double," Neal said.

"Generous."

Neal shrugged, a smile quirking his mouth. "Not really. It's the Bureau's money."

They were quiet for a minute then Patty said, "So, that's what it's like to be seduced by Neal Caffrey."

"I didn't have to seduce you," Neal pointed out. "We were going to end up here anyway."

"Tell me this isn't going to get weird,' Patty said.

"I can keep Patty separate just like I did with Monica," Neal said. "You?"

"It might take me a while but yeah...with help," Patty said. She groaned a little as she sat up. "Now we have to pretend to get decent enough to get dressed. I'm not really supposed to spend the whole night with you."

"But there's nothing against it, right?"

"No, but I might not be able to hold this while I'm asleep and we do have an audience," Patty said.

"Good point," Neal said. "Besides, while I'd have no problem waking up next to Patty....Peter, not so much."

"No offense but I'd rather wake up next to Elizabeth," Patty said.

They got dressed and, for the benefit of the camera, Neal gave her the five grand that Everhart had specified as her rate then, for any spying eyes, he gave her a light kiss as they parted at the hotel door.

 

"So? How'd it go?" Elizabeth asked as Patty changed back into her husband.

"It...went," Peter said, pulling on a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt.

"You didn't actually...?"

"No, of course not," Peter said quickly. "Neal was a gentleman."

"Neal?" Elizabeth asked, surprised.

"Luck of the draw," Peter said. "Shocked both of us but I'm glad it was him and not someone else. Otherwise I might have had to. We just put on a convincing act for our blackmailer."

Elizabeth pulled him close, sensing there was something he wasn't telling her. "What is it, hon?" she asked. She felt him stiffen a little and tried to pull back to look at him. "Hon?"

"It's just...I don't want you to worry," Peter said.

This time, Elizabeth managed to pull back to study his face. Her hands clutched in his T-shirt as she said, her voice trembling a little, "You almost lost yourself."

"I did," Peter said quietly. "But Neal brought me back."

"No more women, Peter, unless you have to. Promise me."

Peter brought their foreheads together. "I promise," he said.

"And you're done being undercover for this case."

"That's an easy one," Peter said. "We're going to wait to see if Nick Halden gets a blackmail demand. He's wealthy enough so it shouldn't be too long." He pulled her close again, sitting them on the bed. "I was scared, El," he said softly. "When I realized what had happened. Neal was scared too. Probably as much as I was."

"They'll wonder why Patty didn't come back," Elizabeth said.

"They can wonder," Peter said. "If it wasn't for the higher ups wanting this case closed quickly, I'd say to hell with it. It's not worth losing myself."

"No, it's not but they don't know the risks for you. They _can't_ know the risks," Elizabeth said.

Peter remembered the coffee mug from earlier and, to change the subject, said, "I think there's more to my magic."

"Really?' Elizabeth asked, glad for the change.

"I haven't had the chance to look into it yet but my coffee cup was floating earlier this week," he said. "Neal noticed before I did."

"Floating, not frozen," Elizabeth said.

"Floating. About two, three inches off my desk," Peter said.

"You certainly are full of surprises," Elizabeth said, a smile touching her mouth.

"I keep your life interesting," Peter said.

"You did that before I found out about your magic," Elizabeth said. She let out a breath. "Let's go to bed."

Peter made love to her that night and Elizabeth knew it was partly because Peter needed to reaffirm himself - as a man, as her husband. She didn't mid, needing the same things. His confession had shaken her badly so she knew it was worse for him - worse because for a short while, he hadn't been Peter Burke, hadn't been her husband, he'd been someone else entirely.

"I'm me," he said softly when they finished.

Elizabeth smiled. For all he was awkward around other women, he knew her as well as she knew him. "I know," she said.

 

TBC


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal wrap up the blackmailing case and Peter finds out more about his newly discovered ability.

"Guess what I just got," Neal said, coming into Peter's office. "Or rather Nick Halden." He set the video disk on the desk. "Everhart wants two hundred thousand to keep it quiet. If he doesn't get by end of business tomorrow then he sends the video to my poor, unsuspecting wife along with the name of the woman I was with."

"I guess our act worked then," Peter said. "He gave you an account number?"

"All right here," Neal said, passing him an envelope as he sat in his usual chair. "Naturally, it's an off shore account."

"Let me guess, the Caymans," Peter said.

"Right in one," Neal said. He regarded the other man. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Peter said, knowing what Neal meant. "But Elizabeth knew."

"About...?"

"That I got lost for a little while," Peter said. At Neal's somewhat worried look, he added, "She knows me, knew something happened."

"And you two don't keep secrets from each other," Neal said.

"We don't, never have," Peter said. "I also told her you brought me back." He let out a breath, turning his mind back to the case. "So, let's get the money transferred and see exactly where it goes," he said. "With any luck, we'll have this wrapped up in a few days."

"Have you been able to look into what happened earlier?" Neal asked.

"The coffee cup? Haven't had the chance," Peter said. "Something to do this weekend."

Neal relaxed back in the chair, a smile curving his mouth. "Devereaux was right - you _can_ neutralize gravity."

"Looks that way," Peter said, returning the smile. "We'll have to see if it comes in handy like the rest does."

"You could go back to Merlin, put on a new, bigger act," Neal suggested. "Have you thought about it? I'm sure the offer still stands. People are still talking about it, you know."

"Really?"

"You don't see an act like that and forget it any time soon," Neal said.

"Maybe someday," Peter said. "For now, let's get this case wrapped up."

With the techs keeping an eye on the money and where it went, it wasn't long before they traced it to a numbered account in the Caymans and tied it to Justin Everhart. Surprisingly, they found out that he wasn't just blackmailing rich men - he was also blackmailing more than a few of the girls who'd worked for him. Once he was arrested, they came forward and spilled their stories.

 

Once that was finished, Peter decided to take off early (by his standard) and headed home after dropping Neal off at June's, curious about his new ability and eager to find out all he could.

He started small - plates, glasses, knick knacks from the mantlepiece - as Elizabeth watched, a somewhat bemused expression on her face. "What's the range, do you know?" she asked. "Any idea?"

"Not yet," Peter said, setting a plate down on the table. "So far, I have to be pretty close to whatever I'm lifting." He studied the plate for a few moments, as if it could give him the answers, then curled his fingers, surprised when it shot toward the ceiling. Reflexively, he froze it before it hit and shattered. Unsure if he could catch it if he brought it down, he moved the table out of the way and stood under it, letting it drop into his hands. "Obviously, I need to learn to control rate of ascent," he said, setting it back down. "Hard telling how high something will go if I don't."

"Seems to me that it'll eventually go out of the area of effect," Elizabeth said as they moved the table back. "You can only freeze someone - or something - if you're what? No more than thirty feet away?"

"About that, yeah," Peter said.

"So, just for the sake of argument, if something goes higher then thirty feet, gravity will go to work on it again, right?"

"Sounds about right," Peter said. "But finding out _how_ high could be tricky. I can't find out indoors - the ceilings would be a limiting factor. Can't do it outside or people might see." He tapped his mouth thoughtfully.

"You need someplace isolated," Elizabeth said. "The terrace at June's maybe?"

"That's a possibility," Peter said. "Maybe when June's away? And we'll need something unbreakable, soft, just in case."

Elizabeth regarded him, a smile curving her mouth. "You're having fun with this," she said.

"I probably could," Peter said. He stepped back from the table, crooking his fingers. That time, the entire table lifted, not just the plate. Concentrating, he stopped it about two feet off the floor before it settled back down.

"Well, next time we have to turn the mattress, it won't be such a chore," Elizabeth said.

"Or..." Peter said, getting into her space, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Peter..." Elizabeth yelped and flailed a little as her feet lost contact with the floor. Grabbing his shoulders, she tried to glare at him but the wicked glint in his eyes had her laughing.

"Easier on my back," Peter said casually. "Don't have to stoop."

"Uh-huh," Elizabeth said skeptically. "Just give me some warning next time, okay?"

"You're saying there can be a next time?" Peter asked, putting his arms around her.

Elizabeth pretended to consider the question then said, "It's kinda fun actually." Experimentally, she stretched her legs out behind her until she lay horizontal about five feet off the floor, her hands clutched on Peter's shoulders.

"I won't let you fall," Peter said. "Promise." Gently, her loosened her grip and her hands tightened on his. "Just like in our magic act." He slowly worked her hands loose and let her go.

"I really couldn't feel anything that time," Elizabeth said a little unsteadily. "I _was_ frozen."

"Just relax, okay? I won't let anything happen to you." He saw her visibly relax and slowly turn to her back and smiled. "Ready to come down?" he asked.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah," she said.

Stepping to her side, he raised his arms under her and she settled into them, her arms going around his neck. "Look at that. You can fly," Peter said, amused.

"I wasn't exactly flying..." Elizabeth said. She smiled up at him. "That was...fun." She tilted her head a little. "Does it work on you?"

Peter shrugged, carrying her over to the couch. "I don't know. Some of it doesn't so this might not." Setting her down, he added, "Still learning, remember? About all of it." He opened one hand and fire appeared. Opening the other, a soft white light appeared. "A few years ago, I didn't think I could use more than one at a time," he said. "When I was taken by Devereaux, I was invisible when I froze them and when I changed to Monica and Monica unfroze them." The light and the fire went out and the small plant on the coffee table rose a few inches and he passed a hand in front of it, making it disappear.

"Neal was right. You're a superhero," Elizabeth said.

"No, not a superhero," Peter said. "I'm like you said. I'm gifted."

That weekend, they asked Neal about his plans, Peter explaining about the limitations on his research into his new ability. Neal readily agreed, curious to see what Peter could do - he even agreed to supply something soft so Peter could practice. "I figured pillows would work," he said as they sat out on the terrace. "If one falls on someone out on the sidewalk, they won't have to go to the hospital." He leaned back in his chair. "So, show me what you've got."

Peter said nothing as an empty chair began floating, going up to a height of four or five feet before going higher. It continued to climb until it was past the roof line, past the treeline until it was almost lost to sight. Elizabeth and Neal scrambled from their seats as the chair began to plummet but it stopped short of impact when Peter froze it. "Sorry," he said. "That's what I needed to find out. How high something would go before the spell lost effect. Now I know. Approximately anyway. How high do you think it was?"

"Ninety, a hundred feet maybe?' Neal answered. "Higher?" He sat back down, eyeing the chair somewhat warily, as if afraid it would suddenly fly into the air again.

"Relax, Neal," Elizabeth said, getting over her own startlement. "It can actually be fun." She motioned Peter up and put her hands on his shoulders, giving him a nod.

As Neal watched, Elizabeth's feet slowly came off the deck then she stretched out horizontally. Peter took her hands and stepped back before letting go, leaving her floating serenely about five feet in the air. She gave Neal a smile as she rotated to her back.

"Oh, I have got to try that," Neal said, a delighted smile lighting his face.

"Come on, hon. Neal wants a turn," Peter said, amused.

"Oh, I suppose," Elizabeth said. "Help me down, would you?"

Peter set her on her feet, steadying her as she wobbled a little. "All right, over here," he said, pointing to a spot in front of him.

As Neal put his hands on Peter's shoulders, he paused, frowning a little. "Wait. I won't be too heavy, will I?" he asked.

"Neutralizes gravity, remember? Weight won't really enter into it," Peter said. "So...ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Neal nodded, looking a little shocked when he felt himself start to float. "Whoa," he breathed.

Peter grasped his shoulders and stepped back. "Just relax," he said. "You're not going to fall. I won't let you. Okay?"

"Yeah, it just feels...strange," Neal said then startled a little when Peter let go. He flailed around a little as if trying to regain his balance and ended up twisting around until he was almost head down. "Okay, this is just undignified," he said, using his momentum to right himself. He shot a glare at Elizabeth when he heard her stifle a laugh but it was ruined when a grin split his face and he laughed. When he was upright again, Peter set him down gently. "Okay, I don't know about you but I could use a drink," he said. Without waiting for a response, he went inside, returning with a bottle of wine for him and Elizabeth and a beer for Peter. "And once again, you've managed to surprise me."

"I told you, you continue to underestimate me," Peter said. "But as far as this...every situation I can think of where it would be useful isn't good."

"Unless you go back to Merlin," Neal said. "I told you, the offer probably still stands."

"I think I'll pass," Peter said. "Got my hands full with this and the job."

 

About a month later, Peter had to use his new ability in less than ideal circumstances.

They had been lured - there was no other word for it - by a suspect to a row of empty tenement buildings, some nearly gutted by fire and vandalism. Their suspect fit the definition of a white collar criminal because he was using a human trafficking ring to launder money for a drug cartel. It was known he was dangerous and had dangerous associates of all stripes but they both wanted to get him - and not just for his financial crimes.

Neal tugged on Peter's arm as the suspect entered one of the buildings, making no effort to give them the slip - he _wanted_ them to follow. "I don't like this, Peter," he said - not nervous, just very cautious.

"Neither do I but we need to get this guy," Peter said.

Neal nodded. "So let's get him," he said, leading the way inside.

As he had all along, their suspect made no effort to throw them off, allowing them to follow him easily. He was taunting them - and they knew it. They followed him through the building, sometimes having to scramble over debris from collapsed staircases and even ceilings and walls. They lost him for a few minutes but caught up to him in the remains of an apartment that was missing a good portion of its living room ceiling - just in time to see him scramble through a boarded up door across the room.

"Damn it!" Neal said, frustrated, not seeing Peter freeze him, his foot still inside. But he did see something perched on the floor above and brought Peter's attention to it. The something was a construct of wires and what looked suspiciously like C4 and a digital timer counting down. "Shit..." He looked at his partner. "Can you freeze it?"

"I can't," Peter said. "Not electronics."

"So what do we do?' Neal asked. "It'll blow before we can get out. We've only got...three minutes."

Peter thought furiously, quickly calculating where they were in the building, how many walls between them and the outside. He turned, his hand filling with flame. "Stand back," he said. He let loose and a hole appeared in the wall. Two more and it was big enough for them to scramble through.

"The bomb?" Neal asked. "We can't leave it here...if a gas line ruptures..."

"Ready to fly?" Peter asked.

Neal's eyes widened but he nodded, feeling his feet leave the ground as Peter lifted him. He grabbed the bomb - its timer reading just over a minute - and, as soon as he was back down, followed his partner out through the hole and ran to the most open area they could find - an overgrown courtyard. It flew out of his hands and they watched it climb rapidly until it was lost to sight. Ten seconds later, they saw the fireball as it exploded with a faint whump. Neal felt his knees give way and he slumped to the ground, giving a shaky, somewhat hysterical laugh.

"Yeah...exactly," Peter said, dropping down beside him. He let out a breath, noticing his hands were trembling and scrubbed his face. " _Not_ how I wanted to use that," he said.

"A trial by fire...almost literally," Neal said. He looked at his partner. "Our perp?"

"He's not going anywhere," Peter said, standing. He held out a hand and pulled Neal to his feet. "He's stuck in that door."

"You froze him?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "You probably didn't notice since your attention was otherwise occupied."

"Honestly, I forgot all about him when I saw the bomb," Neal said as they made their way back inside. "Didn't seem quite so important, you know?"

They extracted their suspect and Peter put the cuffs on. "You know, you _were_ just going up on money laundering charges but guess what? You've upgraded to attempted murder of a Federal officer," he said as they went back to the car.

"You were lucky," the man said. "The timer must have malfunctioned. I had it worked out to the second."

"So, you admit to trying to kill us," Peter said. "That's very helpful. Thank you."

 

It was late when they got back to the office but Peter insisted on finishing the paperwork and calling the MCC to advise them of a prisoner transfer.

As they dropped him off, he had one last thing to say. "You may have gotten me but I've got friends who won't be happy with you."

"Actually, it's you they won't be happy with," Neal said. "Not when they hear how you threw them under the bus," He gave the man a mock salute as he was led away.

"He didn't give us anything," Peter said as they left the building.

"But his associates won't know that," Neal said. "Moz still has his connections, remember? He can have the word spread that he rolled."

"Moz doesn't move in those circles," Peter said.

"Not directly, no," Neal said. "But he's still the Dentist...at least as far as anyone knows. And that still counts for something."

Peter conceded the point with a slight shrug. He sighed. "Let's go home," he said. "Right now, I could use a beer, my wife and my dog...and not necessarily in that order."

 

"Tell Elizabeth you're invited to dinner this weekend," Neal said when Peter dropped him off at June's.

"You don't have to..." Peter started.

"No, but I want to," Neal said. "Really. Besides, how else am I going to thank the man who let me fly?" Before Peter could reply, he turned and jogged up the steps, a laugh echoing behind him.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter faces his greatest threat to his secret.

"Hey, Peter," Neal said, sticking his head into the office. "I think we have a lead on that..." He paused when Peter held up a finger when his phone rang.

"Burke."

Neal eased into the office and into his accustomed chair when he saw Peter's wariness and concern at what the caller said. When Peter disconnected he waited a few minutes, allowing his partner to collect himself. "Peter...?"

"That...was the CIA," Peter said. "An Agent Duryea. I've been 'invited' to a meeting with him - at Langley - in two days."

"Did he say why?"

"It's the CIA," Peter said a bit wryly. "Since when have they been even the slightest bit forthcoming?"

"So this Agent Duryea didn't give you the option of decling the meeting," Neal said, leaning back.

"He didn't exactly say 'Be there or else' but I got the distinct impression I'd better be there," Peter said. He closed the file he'd been reading and set it aside. "I don't like this,' he said. "Why on earth would a CIA agent want to meet with an FBI agent, especially one from this division? The two agencies have the reputation of barely tolerating each other."

"One deals with foreign intelligence, the other is strictly domestic," Neal said. "The two really only overlap when it comes to terrorism."

"But not this division," Peter said. "Unless a domestic organization is funding them. We haven't had any cases that even hinted at it."

"Looks to me like you need to take that meeting," Neal said. "Just to satisfiy your curiosity. I know you are. You don't like unanswered questions."

"No, I don't," Peter said. He let out a breath. "You said something about a lead?"

"Yeah," Neal said, handing him the casefile. "Something hinky on those bank deposits in the Gallagher case. Two days after the money's deposited into the account, the same amount is transfered into another.."

"It's being laundered," Peter said. "Any idea where it's going?"

"A bank in the Keys," Neal said. "A week after it's deposited there, roughly one third of the deposit is transfered back into the account here in New York."

"Payment for services rendered, maybe?"

"Sounds about right," Neal said. "Gallagher launders the money through his account and gets a percentage in return."

"If it's what I'm thinking then we should get O.C. in on this," Peter said.

"Drug cartel?" Neal asked. "Seems likely considering where the money's going."

"That's what I'm thinking," Peter said. "And the bank? Which one? We'll need their cooperation to find out whose account it is."

 

The rest of the day was spent haggling with the bank, trying to get the name of the account holder but the manager was adamant about not giving that information unless a warrant was issued. That required a conference call with the local field office, explaining what evidence they had and faxing it to Miami. In the end, the Miami field office agreed to secure and execute the warrant and keep them in the loop regarding their end of the invesigation.

It was with a sense of relief that Peter called it a day but he wasn't really looking forward to telling Elizabeth about the phone call from Langley.

 

"The _CIA?_ " Elizabeth asked, eyes wide, fork held forgotten in her hand. "Why?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Peter said. "I wasn't told why but it was strongly implied I'd better be there."

"A CIA agent wants to meet with an FBI agent," Elizabeth said. "That's...highly irregular. The agencies' mandates don't overlap."

"Unless there's suspicion of ties to terrorism," Peter said. "None of our cases fit the bill."

"So when do you have to leave?" Elizabeth asked.

"Booked the earliest commuter flight I could," Peter said. "I'll leave first thing in the morning, get a room in Langley and get this meeting over with."

 

The day of the meeting found Peter in a familiar situation - waiting for the person who'd requested it. As he waited, he checked in with Neal on the Gallagher case. He informed him that the Miami office had executed the warrant on the bank and had forwarded the name of the account holder so they could tie the two together.

Peter looked up when a man in his early fifties, dressed in a conservative black suit called his name. "Agent Duryea, I'm guessing," he said, standing.

"Agent Burke. Thank you for coming," Agent Duryea said, gesturing to the office he'd emerged from.

Peter bit back his response - that he'd gotten the impression he hadn't had a choice - and followed him into the room. After taking the proffered seat, he regarded the other agent, noting the caculating look, the slight smugness - well hidden but not completely. "Mind telling me why I had to get up at the crack of dawn, go through airport security then have my credentials scrutinized by no less than three officers when I walk in the door then made to wait for more than an hour?" he asked.

"Why didn't you just walk in, Agent Burke?" Duryea asked. "You could have and no one would have been the wiser."

"Just walk into one of the most secure buildings in the country," Peter said. "Right. I would have if I wanted to end up in prison...and that's best case scenario."

Agent Duryea leaned forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped. "You could have frozen anyone who tried to stop you," he said.

Peter let out a breath, sounding irritated. "I've had this conversation before," he said. "With Senator Hamilton. Who, in case you didn't know, is now in prison for corruption."

"We know," Agent Duryea said. "We also know he had no proof of your...abilities. We do." He opened a drawer and pulled out a tape and Peter kept his expression carefully blank. It could just be a blank tape, a prop to get him to react.

"That's supposed to be...what?" Peter asked.

Duryea said nothing, just got up and moved over to a cart that had a tape player and a monitor. Sliding the tape in, he pushed PLAY and stood back. Seconds later, scenes of Peter using his magic appeared onscreen - making Claire's necklace disappear, the cards hanging in mid air, Elizabeth suspended above the stage, the bomb flying up before it exploded, "That's more than stage magic," he said.

"The CIA is spying on U.S. citizens?" Peter asked evenly when the tape finished.

"Only those we consider a threat...or a possible asset," Duryea said, removing the tape and returning it to his desk.

"Your agency deals with international intelligence, Agent," Peter said. "Domestic is either FBI or DHS."

"We have need of your particular skills, Agent Burke," Duryea said.

"And you couldn't go through channels to get my help?" Peter asked "I know our respective agencies don't exactly get along but if it's as important as you seem to be implying, I'm sure the Director would have been amenable."

"He would have asked too many questions," Duryea said. "Questions neither of us are prepared to answer." He paused a moment. "I'm asking for your cooperation, Agent but if you refuse, I'm prepared to take certain actions to secure it."

Peter's blood began to boil but he gave no outward sign at the clear threat. He slipped his hand iunto his pocket as he leaned forward, covering the fact that he set his phone to record. Swiftly making it vanish, he laid it on the desk. "What actions, Agent?" he asked, not keeping the anger from his tone.

"Your partner, Neal Caffrey," Duryea said. "Quite the colorful history, Guilty of crimes you could never prove. I'm sure we could find a link if we tried. Or your wife. Lovely woman. What do you think would happen if she was publicly brought in for questioning?"

Peter leaned forward. "If I even _think_ you're going after my wife, I'll make sure you never find her. I know people who are very, _very_ good at staying off the grid. So good, even your buddies at the NSA can't even find them My wife happens to be very good friends with one of them and he'd do almost anything for her."

"What about your team, Agent Burke? A word in the right ear will scatter them."

"Are you blackmailing me, Agent Duryea?"

"Call it what you will, Agent Burke," Duryea said. "We have need of your skills and we _will_ have access to them. Otherwise, that tape goes public and you'll be exposed, turned into a sideshow or driven into hiding."

Peter was far from acquiescing to the threat but he put on the appearance of doing so. "What do you want?"

"That's better," Agent Duryea said. "We need you to get into the personal computer of one Mr. Frederick Ferraro at this address." He slid a sheet of paper across the desk with the address and Mr. Ferraro's schedule for the next week. "We heard chatter that Mr. Ferraro is in bed with an up and coming terrorist organization that seems to have aspirations of replacing ISIS as the top threat to the U.S." He slid a thumb drive over. "We want you to copy the contents of the hard drive and bring it here so our techs can comb through it, find out where he's getting the funds and exactly what's being done with them and where it's going."

Peter took the drive and put it in his pocket along with his still invisible phone. "All right, but I have some conditions. One, you stay the hell away from my wife. Even the faintest whiff that you're not, we _both_ disappear and best of luck finding us. Two, I do this, I take Caffrey with me. Why, you don't need to know. Three, when I give you your evidence, you give me the tape. If you renege on _any_ of those conditions, I go straight to your boss and spill everything."

"This comes from the Director," Duryea said.

Peter had his doubts about that but didn't correct Duryea's assumption he'd be going to the Director of the CIA. No, Peter planned to go much higher - to the Attorney General. Thanks to Neal's contract with the DOJ on the Panthers case, he still had a contact there. He and his partner still had excellent standing with the Department due to that case. "If that's all," he said, standing. "I have to brief my partner and let my team know I'll be working another case."

"I'll see you soon, Agent Burke," Duryea said.

"You know I'm trusting you to keep your word," Peter lied. "I could just take that tape."

"You wouldn't get far with it," Duryea said. "I've left instructions for you to be searched before you leave the building. If the tape was found on your person. you'd be immediately arrested for stealing classified materials."

It was a good play, Peter admitted to himself even though he could have easily gotten around it. He decided to let Duryea continue to think he had the upper hand - he had his own plans to make.

 

Since Elizabeth had once again taken over the house for a girls' night, Peter went to the loft to bring Neal up to speed. As he'd expected, his partner wasn't happy to find out the CIA of all people knew Peter's secret.

"How long have they known?" Neal asked.

"At least since I was under at Merlin," Peter said. "The tape showed the timestop, some of the invisibility and my latest with the bomb."

"So, not all of it," Neal said. "That's something at least."

Peter regarded his partner, his friend calmly. "I don't think it's the Agency, just Duryea," he said. "Do you think the CIA Director wouldn't have pulled strings to at least try to get me on a case of theirs?"

"So, what's the plan?"

"We do as requested," Peter said. "But I've got plans of my own." He took out his phone and played the recording of Duryea's not so subtle blackmail threat. "I've got my own leverage." He sipped his beer, a twinkle in his eyes. "And I've got you."

"Are we going to do something illegal or at least highly questionable?" Neal asked, eyes alight.

"I don't have any questions about it," Peter said.

"Then neither do I," Neal said. "So spill. What's the plan?"

"Does Moz still have that thumb drive copier? The one I used on the Stanzler case?" At Neal's nod, he continued, "We copy the hard drive for Duryea but make one for ourselves too. See if we can find out what this is really about. I have my doubts about this being terrorism related."

"If Duryea catches on?"

"Actually, I want him to," Peter said.

"But the tape..."

"I figured out what you did to Fowler's" Peter said. "Still have that magnet?"

Almost lightening fast, Neal out the pieces together. "You're expecting him to renege," he said. "You tell him you'll report the blackmail threat, he counters with your exposure...except the tape will be blank. He'll have nothing." He frowned. "But getting into the CIA..."

"Same way we did Hamilton's office," Peter said. "He put the tape in his file drawer, easy enough to pick. You do mine all the time."

"I used to," Neal said, shrugging a little at Peter's raised brow. He leaned back. "So when do we do this?" he asked.

"Sooner the better," Peter said. "According to the schedule I was given, Ferraro is going to be at a fundraiser this weekend. I figure that'll be the best time."

Neal nodded. "I don't suppose you got blueprints to his house."

"Evidently Duryea didn't think I'd need them," Peter said.

"I'll ask Moz to get them then," Neal said. "We can't exactly search the house looking for his computer, not if this is essentially a smash and grab."

"Now to tell Elizabeth," Peter said. "If he hadn't brought her - or you - into it, I might have just done what he asked."

 

Two days later, Moz bustled in with an armload of blueprints and busied himself spreading them out on the table, using anything that came to hand to hold them down - including Peter's beer bottle and Neal's wineglass. "So, you've been instructed to break into Ferraro's place and copy his hard drive," he said. He paused a moment and reached into his satchel. "The copier," he said, handing it to Peter. "So, the most likely place for his computer..."

"Forget the bedrooms," Neal said, peering at the blueprints.

"The kitchen and...what is that? The family room? And the dining room," Peter added. "Bathrooms, obviously."

Anything that could be an office or a den?" Neal asked.

Moz pointed to one room in the corner on the second floor. "This seems like a likely spot," he said. "Or this one on the opposite side. Both also have the advantage of French doors and a balcony." He studied the blueprints a few moments. "I understand you're doing this under duress, Suit."

"He's being blackmailed, Moz," Neal said.

"They don't know about me?"

"Only in the most general sense," Peter said. "I just said I knew people who were very good at staying off the grid. I also told them if they came after Elizabeth, I'd make sure she disappeared, so stay with her while we're gone, would you?"

"I'll keep them from finding her should it become necessary," Moz said.

"Him," Peter corrected. "I'm almost positive this op is unsanctioned. That's why we're doing our own."

"Neither Director knows about this?" Moz asked.

"Mine doesn't and I doubt Duryea's does either, despite what he told me."

 

The night of the fundraiser came and Peter took the time to reassure Elizabeth - and Moz - that he and Neal would be fine before they left for Ferraro's. Seeing Neal's uncertainty, he said, "This is the easy part. Next, we hit the CIA."

"Not helping, Peter," Neal said.

"Just like Hamilton's office," Peter said.

Neal let out a breath. "Okay, let's do this."

 

The first obstacle presented itself when they got to Ferraro's in the form of a gated estate. "Opens from the inside," Neal said.

"Time to fly," Peter said, lifting the other man up and over the spiked bars. In short order, he slipped through and they made their way to the house, keeping eyes and ears open for possible security. The distant crackle of a radio told them guards roamed the grounds. As a precaution, they went invisible until they reached the house, under the first of the two likely rooms.

Checking to see that he had what he needed, Neal gave Peter a nod and was lifted up, landing lightly on the balcony. Seconds later, he eased inside and Peter settled in to wait - as much as he hated it - and hoped they got the correct rooim. More for his own peace of mind than anything, Peter had "borrowed" two mics and earbuds from the office so Neal was able to keep him appraised of his progress.

"Bingo," Neal said in his ear. "Beginning download...wow, that's a lot of data but it shouldn't take more than a few minutes...high speed. How are you doing? Any company?"

"None that can see me," Peter said. "Near as I can tell, they're at the back side of the house."

"Seventy five percent complete,,,one hundred...Head's up, partner, I'm coming out."

Peter looked up and saw Neal emerge onto the balcoiny and brought him down. "Everything back the way it was?"

"I refuse to be insulted by that," Neal said. "He'll never know I was there."

"Sorry. Nerves," Peter said.

"I remember my first heist so I forgive you, now come on."

 

They found Elizabeth and Moz waiting anxiously for them when they got back to Brooklyn, Elizabeth immediately pulling Peter into an embrace. "Thank God that's over," she said, releasing him

"Not quite," Peter said. "But the rest can wait."

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if the CIA falls under the umbrella of the DOJ but for the purposes of this story, it does.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

"Ready?" Peter asked. They stood around the corner from the entrance to the CIA building, watching people enter and exit - agents, civilians with clearance, even custodial workers.

"I thought Moz would go apoplectic when we told him what we were doing," Neal said. He took a steadying breath. "Let's do this."

They went invisible, slipping in with a pair of men - agents from their demeanor - and bypassed security on their way to the stairs, not wanting to chance an elevator. Years of working side by side, being in each others space served them well as they climbed to the fourth floor where Duryea's office was located. They paused as Peter oriented himself and he tugged on Neal's sleeve, indicating their target with a nod of his head. The door was closed, probably locked but Neal had his kit. They had a close call when two agents came down the hall - one of them Duryea. Luck was with them as the two men continued down the hall, on their way to a meeting from the snippet of conversation they overheard.

Quickly, Neal picked the lock and they slipped inside. "Cameras?" he asked in a whisper.

"Doubtful," Peter said. "It's the CIA. They don't want anyone spying on them."

"Ironic," Neal said as they became visible. "File drawer, right?" At Peter's nod, Neal had the drawer open in practically no time and removed the damning tape. Unlike the time with Fowler, he could take his time erasing the tape, running the powerful magnet thoroughly over both sides before returning it to the drawer and relocking it. He joined Peter at the door and they waited a few seconds as footsteps passed before leaving, retracing their steps out of the building.

"I know it's early but where's the nearest bar?" Neal asked when they reached the car.

"Not far from here actually," Peter said. Before he could even start the car, he got a call from Jones.

"About that financial information you gave me a few days ago? None of the accounts trace back to Ferraro," Jones said.

"It doesn't?" Peter asked, frowning. He put the phone on speaker for Neal's benefit. "Who's are they?"

"Of the eight I could find, three trace to a..." There was a pause as Jones looked. "Three trace to a Carl Duryea, two to a James Cordray and the other three to a Marv Stinson. But here's the thing - other than the names, I can't find anything on these guys. I mean _nothing_. I'm thinking they're aliases."

"What's the total?" Peter asked, exchanging a look with Neal, seeing him come to the same conclusion he had - three CIA agents were on the take.

"Over a hundred million," Jones said. "Any idea what they're into?"

"Not yet," Peter said. "Did you find where it came from?"

"All over the Middle East," Jones said. "Most from countries known to be hostile to the U.S."

"Thanks Jones," Peter said. "This stays between us. Got that?"

"Will I be told at some point?" Jones asked.

"I'll give you the salient details when I have all of them," Peter said.

"I guess it is terrorism related," Neal said when Peter hung up. "But it's not Ferraro. It's Duryea."

Just then, Peter's phone rang again. "Burke."

"Have you completed your assignment, Agent?" Duryea asked.

"I have," Peter said. "But delivery will have to wait. I've been called to Washington. The Director has asked for my input on the the CI program since my partnership with Caffrey is so successful."

"That can be done by email."

"Sorry, not this time," Peter said. "The Director has asked for a face to face. He's also asked me to bring Caffrey as well so I can't spare him either."

"Have you looked at the contents of Ferraro's hard drive? If so, you'll be required to sign an NDA," Duryea said.

"None of my business," Peter said. "And I don't want to know."

"Have it in my hands tomorrow, Agent Burke." The implication was clear - if he failed to deliver, the tape would be released.

"Fat chance,' Peter said when he hung up. "It's going straight to the AG along with hard copies of what Jones dug up."

"You're telling Jones about your magic?"

"Not if I can avoid it," Peter said.

"So when are we going to Washington?" Neal asked.

Peter sighed. "Later. Right now I just want to go home to my wife, my bed and my office," he said. "Forget the cloak and dagger bit for a while. Besides, I still have to give my contact in the AG's office a call."

 

They arrived in Brooklyn late that evening and filled Moz and Elizabeth in about their activities...and the possible link between Duryea and a terrorist cell.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't trust the CIA," Moz said, sounding a little vindicated.

"But why would terrorists pay off CIA agents?" Elizabeth asked. "It's their job to prevent attacks."

"If one happens on American soil, it's the FBI and DHS who investigate," Peter said. "Like 9/11 or even Oklahoma City. Legally it's not the CIA's bailiwick. Even though they're an American agency, the U.S. isn't their jurisdiction." Peter took a drink of the wine he'd agreed to have. "My guess is Duryea and the other two agents are getting paid to look the other way if certain people who are on the watchlist try to enter the country."

"Even if they're planning an attack?" Neal asked.

"If they pull it off, it makes DHS and the FBI look bad," Peter said. "We missed the intel, misread it, were too slow, any number of scenarios. The blame would fall squarely on us." He let out a humorless huff of laughter. "Interagency rivalry on a whole new level."

"And Ferraro found evidence of the payoffs," Moz said.

"So how did Duryea find out he had it?" Elizabeth asked.

"One way," Neal said. "Ferraro was going to blackmail all three. But Duryea finds out about Peter's magic and blackmails _him_ to get the evidence."

"Well, all he's got now is a blank tape and unsupported allegations," Peter said. "While I have proof and a contact in the AGs office." He shrugged a little. "I told him I'd go to his boss. I just didn't say which one."

 

The next day, Peter ignored Duryea's deadline and put in a call to the AGs office and his contact there, finding out - to his surprise - that he could have called the AG direct. "What's this about, Peter?"

"I have clear evidence that three agents in the CIA are being paid off to allow certain individuals on the terrorism watchlist into the country," Peter said. "That being the case, all we have are names, no personal information."

"Then how do you know they're agents? It'll take more than your suspicions."

"I know one of them is," Peter said. "Carl Duryea. He coerced me into getting the incriminating evidence, threatened my wife and my partner."

"You have proof?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't," Peter said.

"So why you? Why not another agent?"

"Got me," Peter said. "My record, my reputation? If I got caught, I'd go down in flames and the CIA gets one over on the Bureau, even if Durya and the other two are the only ones who know."

There was a pause on the other end. "All right. I'll set up a meet with the AG and have Duryea brought in, see what he has to say. Next week work for you?"

"I'll find the time. Just tell me when," Peter said. "And be sure Duryea knows I'll be there."

 

In preparation for his meeting with the AG, Peter collected all the evidence he had against Duryea - the hard copies Jones had gathered, the thumb drive and the recording on his phone - and arrived in Washington early. He wanted to fill in the AG before Duryea got there.

"Agent Burke, a pleasure to finally meet you," the AG said, giving him a firm handshake.

"The pleasure is mine, sir," Peter said respectfully. "I just wish the circumstances were different."

"If there's corruption in any of the agencies, it should be dealt with," the AG said. "Agent Duryea approached you, is that correct?"

"It is, sir," Peter said and proceeded to outline the situation, editing out his use of magic and completely omitting his own very questionable actions in regards to the threats he'd received - even though his actions were to protect Elizabeth, Neal and even his team - such as breaking into CIA Headquarters. Just as he finished, Agent Duryea was shown in.

"Agent Duryea," Peter said with a slight nod.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Duryea said but Peter could see the questions and the wariness in his expression along with the realization that Peter had prompted this meeting.

"You don't recognize me? Even after trying to coerce me into doing your dirty work?" Peter asked.

"Coerce...?" Duryea asked with a convincing show of bewilderment.

Peter laid his phone on the table and pressed play. From the speaker came Duryea's voice, clearly recognizable and Peter hid a smirk at the other agent's discomfort, especially when Peter's voice was heard asking if it was blackmail and Duryea's response.

"Do you deny that's you, agent?" the AG asked when the recording finished.

"The Agency had use for his...particular skills and this was the best way to secure his cooperation," Duryea said.

"The Agency? Or you personally?" the AG asked. "That recording isn't the only thing Agent Burke has brought to my attention. The bank accounts with tidy little nest eggs, proof of where and who the money came from and why it was paid to you."

Duryea decided to go on the attack. "You have no idea what this man can do," he said, glowering. "In my opinion, he should be detained in the interest of national security. He presents a clear and present danger, possibly even to the President."

"Do you have any proof he's a threat?" the AG asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Duryea said, retrieving a tape from his briefcase. "The last incident should be of particular interest."

The AG glanced at Peter, who looked unconcerned as he shrugged. He nodded to the other agent to proceed and Duryea slid the tape into the player. A few minutes of a blank screen and the AG said, a little irritated, "I thought you said you had proof. There isn't even a timestamp."

Duryea removed the tape and inspected it closely, frowning as he did. "I swear this is the one," he said, a little distractedly. Suddenly, he snapped his gaze up to Peter. "What did you do?" he asked angrily. "How did you manage to erase this?"

"How could I possibly have gotten to it?" Peter asked. "The last I saw that tape, you were putting it in your desk. Or are you suggesting I somehow managed to get into CIA Headquarters, break into your office, your desk, erase the tape and get out unnoticed? I'm sure you have surveillance cameras all over that building. Check them. See if I was there at any other time."

"You could have made yourself invisible," Duryea said. "Like that woman's jewelry."

Peter pretended to be slightly confused by the reference for a few seconds then his face cleared. "That was just a magic trick," he said. "Magicians do it all the time. It's sleight of hand. Caffrey taught me."

"What about your wife hanging in mid air?"

"Cables," Peter said.

"The bomb? It went up at least a hundred feet."

"Are you sure of the frame of reference?" Peter asked. "I still have a pretty good pitching arm and the bomb wasn't that big. The building we were in was on the verge of complete collapse. Maybe it looked taller than it actually was."

"You're a magician?" the AG asked interstedly.

"Strictly amateur," Peter said.

"Would you...?"

"Sir!" Duryea exclaimed. "This man..."

"Is no more a threat than my infant granddaughter," the AG said, interrupting him. "This is the agent who, along with his partner, was instrumental in bringing down the Pink Panthers. Something no other agency worldwide even came close to doing. Now, you'll be escorted from the building and to a holding cell until I can meet with your Director."

"You'll pay for this Burke," Duryea threatened as he was escorted out.

"Should I arrange a protective detail for you, your wife and Mr. Caffrey?" the Ag asked, concerned.

"No need but the offer is appreciated, sir," Peter said. His mouth quirked a little as he stood and retrieved his phone. "I had no idea my little magic act was so convincing," he said. Remembering the other man's unspoken request, he pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and ran his hand over it, making it disappear then reappear.

"You don't happen to do children's parties, do you?" the AG asked, amused as he stood as well.

Peter chuckled. "No but I admit I'm open to the idea," he said. He sobered. "I'll be kept in the loop regarding Agent Duryea?"

"I'll make sure of it."

 

It was with an almost overwhelming sense of relief that Peter went home and changed from Agent Burke to just Peter Burke.

"Was it close?" Elizabeth asked, handing him a beer.

"Could have been," Peter said. "Good thing I have the two best ex white collar criminals on my side. Otherwise...who knows?"

"And Agent Duryea?"

"In a holding cell, pending the AGs meeting with the CIA Director," Peter said. "But with the evidence we got, he'll be convicted on corruption charges, accepting bribes and possibly terrorism charges."

"And blackmail of a Federal officer," Elizabeth said. "Don't forget that."

"He said I was a threat to national security," Peter said. "Possibly even to the President."

"No, you're not," Elizabeth said, firmly, seeing his faintly disturbed expression.

"But I could be," Peter said, regarding her. "I could easily slip past the Secret Service detail and no one would see me. Or gain access to sensitive information and sell it to the highest bidder. Hell, I could burn down the White House or the Capitol Building and there'd be no forensic evidence to tie me to it...or..."

"Peter...stop," Elizabeth said. "Yes, you could do any of that...but you can't. It's not you. Being law enforcement is who you are. The only people you're a threat to are the white collar criminals of this city and I'd like to punch Duryea in the face for making you think along those lines. He wanted to use you just like Devereaux did - for his own personal gain. Only what he did was worse. He swore an oath to protect this country but he was selling it out, just to get rich."

Peter smiled a little ruefully. "And once again, you helped me get my head back on straight. Put things in perspective," he said.

"Well, you always said I was smart,' Elizabeth said.

"No, I said you were brilliant," Peter corrected, pulling her against him. "And you are. You sure I can't get you a desk at the office? Between you and Neal, we could get close to a one hundred percent closure rate."

"You two are the experts when it comes to white collar crimes,," Elizabeth said. "I'm just an expert on you."

Peter laughed softly. "Yes you are," he said. He extended a finger and touched the small flame that appeared at the tip to the candles sitting on the coffee table before settling back. Before she could ask, a rainbow appeared, bathing the room with soft, colored light.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moz finds out about Peter's newest ability.

"Hon? Could you give me a hand?" Elizabeth called from the kitchen.

Peter found her gazing at the top shelf of one of the cupboards. "The step stool?" he asked.

"Melissa borrowed it last week," Elizabeth said. "Haven't had time to get it back."

"Hang on."

Elizabeth wobbled a little as her feet left the floor but steadied herself on the cupboard before pulling the items she wanted off the shelf and handing them to Peter. There was a knock on the back door and she called, "Come on in, Moz!"

The door opened, admitting Moz. "How'd you know...?" He stopped short, seeing Elizabeth hovering four feet off the floor. "Don't tell me you have magic too, Mrs. Suit," he said.

"No, it's Peter's," Elizabeth said, taking one last thing off the shelf. She glanced back and down at Moz. "Go ahead and set that down," she said.

"So how many does this make and how long?" Moz asked, setting the bottle of wine he'd brought - probably from Neal's stash - on the kitchen island.

Peter went through the list in his head, counting as he did. "Nine," he said, setting Elizabeth down gently. "I found out during that blackmail case, the one with the escorts. Neal noticed before I did. Saw my coffee cup hovering over my desk. By the way, we knew it was you because you're the only person we know who insists on using the back door."

"Never know who's watching the front," Moz said. "...like the CIA."

"Duryea was one agent," Peter said. "Probably the only one who had proof."

"That you know," Moz said.

"All right you two," Elizabeth said. "Shoo unless you want to help."

"If someone else has proof - which I doubt - I'll deal with it," Peter said, grabbing a beer. "Reston, Hamilton, Devereaux, Duryea, all either discredited or in prison." He understood Moz's concern - especially after Duryea - but he'd once again managed to convince people they didn't know what they thought they knew. He knew he was maybe getting a little careless since he'd come clean to Neal and Elizabeth and now Moz and decided that perhaps he should scale back on his use of magic. It was just it came in so darn handy sometimes.

"I assume this is how you got into Ferraro's place," Moz said as he and Peter took seats in the living room. "I noticed the lack of usual equipment for breaking and entering."

"It was Neal who went in," Peter said. "I got him over the fence, he let me in and I got him up to the balcony. He took it from there."

"Don't forget the bomb,' Elizabeth said from the kitchen.

"What bomb?" Moz asked, startled. "Neal didn't say anything about a bomb on that case."

"Because there wasn't," Peter said. "It was before that. We were following a money launderer who was working for a trafficker and a drug cartel. He led us to a vacant tenement in Hell's Kitchen. Gutted apartment had a bomb in it. Neal got it, we got out and I sent it up where it exploded."

"You couldn't freeze it?"

"Can't freeze electronics," Peter said. "We had to scramble a bit but we got the job done."

A few minutes later, Neal let himself in, ignoring Peter's amused eye roll. "Peter, Moz."

"Hey Neal!" Elizabeth called from the kitchen.

"Hi Elizabeth!" Neal called back as he removed his jacket. "I see the gang's all here." He flopped onto the couch next to Peter. "You tell Moz about the latest?" he asked.

"Didn't have to," Peter said. "He saw El getting a few things from the cupboard...without the step stool."

"Ah, I see," Neal said. He looked at his friend a little mischievously. "Want to see what it's like? If Peter agrees, of course."

Peter shrugged. "I can if you want," he said.

Moz looked indecisive or a minute then nodded. "What do I need to do?" he asked.

"Just relax...and hang on," Peter said. Slowly, the chair lifted and Moz's grip on the arms tightened as it cleared the coffee table. Peter refrained from going higher, not wanting to spook Moz more than he already looked. He set the chair down gently then picked up his beer.

"Okay. That was...interesting," Moz said.

"It's a bit more than interesting, Moz," Neal said. "You should try it without the chair."

"Just don't move around too quickly or you'll end up upside down like he did," Peter said, a smirk touching his mouth.

Neal shot him a glare. "That was an accident," he said.

Peter shrugged. "Still happened," he said.

"I think I'll pass," Moz said. He regarded Peter a moment, shaking his head slightly. "Could have been a legend," he said.

"I do appreciate the compliment," Peter said. "But I like putting the bad guys away too much."

"And making them look like fools on occasion," Neal added.

Peter nodded, a thoughtful frown touching his brow. That thought brought him back to his earlier thought - that he was becoming just a little careless when using his magic. That he was starting to rely on it too much. He noticed the somewhat concerned looks Neal and Moz were giving him and smiled. "Just thinking," he said. "Nothing important."

Talk turned to their latest case - a rather interesting money laundering operation that was using the state's public assistance system - until Elizabeth called them to the table.

During dinner, Elizabeth filled them in on her latest headache inducing client who was constantly changing her mind, wanting everything _just so_ and Moz told them of his latest theory of what was going on deep inside Area 51 and asking questions about Peter's newly discovered ability. Peter readily admitted he didn't know everything about it - about any of it - but he was still learning.

 

Later, after Neal and Moz took their leave, they sat on the couch and Elizabeth settled close beside her husband. "Sometimes I wish I could do what you do," she said.

"I admit it can be fun," Peter said. "And useful, even when it's not case related...or blackmail related." He felt Elizabeth shiver for a fraction of a second before she relaxed. "Hon?"

"It's nothing, just a slight chill," Elizabeth said. She laid her head on his shoulder. "And no idea how you can do all these things?" she asked. She felt him shake his head and she sighed. "It must be kind of nice to just..." She waved her hand...and colored lights filled the room. "Peter?" she asked, startled into sitting up.

"That's...that's not me," Peter said, more curious than alarmed. "I think...I think _you_ did it."

"But I don't have magic," Elizabeth said.

"I think the evidence contradicts you," Peter said.

"It's not you?"

"Not me, I swear," Peter said. He gestured and more colored lights appeared, overlapping and merging with the others.

"Okay, say it _is_ me. How do i stop it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Just...stop it," Peter said and the room got slightly less colorful. Seeing Elizabeth's confusion, he sighed. He really couldn't explain how he controlled his magic, never having had to before. "Okay, as Neal pointed out before, it's all up here," he said, touching her temple. "I think of what I want to do and it happens."

"But the gestures..." Elizabeth said. "You use them every time you use your magic."

"For most of it, yeah," Peter said. "But most of it involves using my hands - the fire, the light, the invisibility, you get the idea." He paused a moment, thinking. "Here, try this...close your hand and think of the lights going away."

Frowning a little in concentration, Elizabeth followed instructions. She closed her hand into a fist and the lights disappeared. She let out a breath and laughed delightedly. "Wow."

"Try again,' Peter said.

A little hesitantly, Elizabeth waved her hand and the room once more lit with rainbow light. Peter couldn't help the smile at her rapt expression. "You think I'll be able to keep it?" she asked.

"I don't know," Peter said. "I have no idea where you got it. I don't even know where _I_ got it."

"How could you possibly get used to having something like this?" Elizabeth asked, still watching the lights.

"I've had it a long time," Peter said, knowing it wasn't really an answer but Elizabeth nodded as if she understood. Peter thought she probably did.

 

The next morning, Peter woke to the colored lights dancing in the bedroom. Elizabeth didn't notice he was awake and he took the opportunity to just observe her. She was playing, experimenting, making the lights shimmer and cycle. At one point it became an intense white...but neither he nor Elizabeth were affected. "Have you been up all night?' he asked after a while.

"Oh! I thought you were still asleep," Elizabeth said, bringing a hand to her chest. "I was just..."

"I understand," Peter said with a soft smile. "I did the same thing when I found out."

"To answer your question, no, I haven't been up all night," Elizabeth said, leaning over to give him a kiss. "I woke up just a couple hours ago."

"And you couldn't resist," Peter said.

"No, not really," Elizabeth said. Her brow furrowed in concentration and again, intense white light filled the room. When it faded, she asked, "Why didn't it knock me out?"

"Probably because it's yours," Peter said. "It doesn't affect me either when I use it."

"So I'm immune," Elizabeth said.

"For as long as you have it, I guess," Peter said. "Don't know how long that will be though."

"Still...it's nice, knowing what it's like," Elizabeth said. She glanced at the clock and sighed. "I have a client meeting in about two hours," she said. "I'd better get up and get ready."

"On a Saturday?" Peter asked, sitting up.

"Only day he had free," Elizabeth said. "This could be big, hon. Lots of contacts if I land the contract."

"Of course you'll get the contract," Peter said as if it were a given. "I have every faith in you."

Elizabeth leaned over to give him a quick kiss before sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. Peter debated on whether to get up himself or not then decided he might as well. At the very least, he could have the coffee ready when she finished...and Satch would need to go out.

As he went down to the kitchen and readied the pot, his mind went to Elizabeth's new magic, wondering where it came from. He was used to not knowing where his came from and had accepted the fact that he'd probably never find out but Elizabeth... She'd shown no sign before last night's display. He recalled the brief shiver that had gone through her and frowned a little. It seemed completely unrelated but his gut told him it was.

"Oh, you're such a sweetheart," Elizabeth said, coming into the kitchen. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

"It wasn't because I'd had you under surveillance?" Peter asked, amused, handing her a mug of coffee fixed the way she liked it.

Elizabeth's eyes crinkled in amusement as she sipped. "But it was your coffee making skills that clinched it," she said.

"Not _just_ that, I hope," Peter said.

"There might have been a few other things," Elizabeth conceded. She finished her coffee and Peter handed her a to-go cup and a bagel before she had to leave to make her meeting.

After returning upstairs to dress, he settled in with the casefiles he'd brought home - none were really interesting but enough to keep him occupied until Elizabeth got home.

Later that morning, she called to tell him she wouldn't be back for a while - she'd gotten the contract and the client wanted her to start immediately. Since she was downtown anyway, she thought she'd stop by her usual vendors to start discussing prices and schedules.

"I'll order take out when you get home," Peter said. "And congratulations. I knew you'd get it."

"You did," Elizabeth said. "Okay, gotta go. Love you."

Peter fixed himself a quick lunch, intending to go back to the files but his thoughts returned to Elizabeth's display of magic. It had been one of his - his first - and he had a hunch. One of the things that made Peter so good at his job was his ability to let things percolate in his subconscious, letting it put pieces together while he concentrated on other things. However, testing his hunch would have to wait until Elizabeth got home, which could be late. He knew her negotiations could take hours as she tried to find an equitable arrangement - not wanting to short change her vendors but determined not to get short changed herself. What she did was more difficult than supplying food, flowers or a venue - she had to orchestrate everything so it went smoothly, dealing with prickly or obstinate personalities as well as deal with unexpected hiccups or near disasters. Sometimes he thought her job was more difficult than his in that he was rarely caught off guard by something a suspect did or didn't do.

He tapped his pen thoughtfully on the file he had open. If his hunch was right, he didn't need Elizabeth to test it. Coming to a decision he realized he'd already made, he retrieved his phone. "Neal. You busy?" he asked when his partner answered.

"Not at the moment. Why?"

"I have a hunch about something and I need your help testing it. I'll explain when you get here. You game?"

"Okay, you have my curiosity piqued," Neal said. "I'll catch a cab."

Forty five minutes later, Neal knocked on the door rather than let himself in. During the wait, Peter thought more on that moment on the couch, Elizabeth's slight shiver before she filled the room with colored light. They'd been sitting on the couch, Elizabeth curled up against him as they'd talked. The physical contact was important, he knew...he just didn't know why. But he was going to rely on his instincts. They rarely steered him wrong.

"Hey Peter, what's up?" Neal asked when the door opened.

"New ability...maybe," Peter said, closing the door and waving him to a seat.

"Another?" Neal asked, surprised.

"Maybe, not sure," Peter said then explained what had happened with Elizabeth.

"So you might be able to...transfer your abilities to someone else?" Neal asked, curious.

"Looks that way," Peter said. "If so, I'm not sure for how long."

"Permanently?"

"Possibly," Peter said. "El first showed it after you and Moz left yesterday. She still had it this morning."

"So what do you want me to do?" Neal asked.

"You don't really have to do anything," Peter said. "Just sit still." Once Neal settled, he laid a hand on his shoulder and concentrated. Concentrated on Neal's reaction and on which ability he hoped to give his partner. He'd thought long and hard about it and decided on the fire. He cocked his head, seeing the same faint shiver that Elizabeth had experienced and removed his hand.

"Now what?" Neal asked.

Peter demonstrated, opening his hand, palm up and fire filled it. His other went back to Neal's shoulder to steady him when Neal copied his gesture and startled when flame erupted from his hand.

"It...it doesn't burn," Neal said, awed. "It...I don't know."

"Tickles?" Peter suggested.

"Yeah," Neal said. "I can feel the heat but it's not...uncomfortable." Experimentally, he closed his hand and the fire snuffed out. "You still have it, right?"

In reply, Peter's hand once again held fire. "Elizabeth has the lights," he said, opening his other hand, bathing the room in soft white light.

"And no idea how long I'll have it?" Neal asked, once more opening his hand and watching as the fire slowly grew.

It didn't surprise Peter that Neal was quick to exert control, despite being brand new to possessing magic - even borrowed magic. Elizabeth had as well. "We'll have to wait and see," he said. "It's been about eighteen hours since El got the lights, so with that in mind..."

"I'll be careful,' Neal said. "Trust me, I don't want to accidentally burn anything down."

Peter gave him a short nod and watched as Neal...played with the fire, his hand moving as he performed sleight of hand maneuvers, watching the flames lick over and around his fingers, the fire going out then reappearing, transferring from hand to hand.

"So how did Elizabeth react?' Neal asked.

"How do you think?" Peter asked, amused.

"The same way I did, I bet," Neal said. He snuffed the fire, regarding his hands. "It'll be...hard, I guess, losing this," he said after a moment.

"I know," Peter said, remembering what had happened to him after Corman. "But then, you might not. We'll have to wait and see."

"Still, I'll have had the experience, first hand," Neal said. "I know what it feels like now." He saw Peter's somewhat concerned expression and smiled. "Relax Peter,' he said. "In case you forgot, I never held on to anything that long and what I _did_ keep was stashed somewhere I couldn't get to it. This..." Fire filled his hand again. "This is just borrowed."

"Probably," Peter said, feeling relieved that Neal had so readily understood and accepted his concern. After not really thinking things through with Monica, Peter hadn't wanted to hurt his friend by giving him something he'd have to deny him later. But, he realized, he _could_ give the magic back to him - and Elizabeth.

"So, I'll keep tabs on this and let you know how long it lasts," Neal said.

"If there's a time limit, I'll know from El," Peter said.

"Might be different with me,' Neal said. "Might last longer or might not."

Peter nodded, seeing his point and let out a breath. "Stay for dinner?" he asked. "I told El I'd order out since she's not sure when she'll be back."

"Sure," Neal said. "Until then, what do you have?" He gestured to the casefiles still spread out on the coffee table.

"Not much interesting," Peter admitted. "But they need to be cleared."

 

"Oh, hello Neal," Elizabeth said when she came home to find her husband and his partner poring over a case.

"Hey Elizabeth," Neal said, looking up with a smile.

"Peter didn't conscript you, did he?" Elizabeth asked, setting her purse down and kicking off her shoes.l

"In a manner of speaking," Neal said. "Actually I volunteered. He told me about your magic and how you might have gotten it."

"And used you to test his theory," Elizabeth said. She raised a brow at Peter. "And?"

"It worked," Peter said. He nodded at Neal, who opened his hand, showing the fire. "You still have yours?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Elizabeth said, taking a seat in the chair. "It's been non stop since this morning." She gestured and the lights filled the room. "Okay, that answers that," she said. "Still no idea if it's permanent?"

"Pretty sure it's not," Peter said. "Only real question is how long." Elizabeth sighed and he saw the wistfulness in her expression. "I _can_ give it back, hon," he said.

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that," Elizabeth said, surprised. She let out a breath. "You said something about take out?" Peter nodded. "Good, I'm starved and really don't feel like cooking. Neal, you're staying?"

"Peter invited me," Neal said.

After a few minutes discussion, they agreed on Indian and Peter made the call. Over dinner, talk turned to the magic Peter had been able to transfer to them and he explained - as best he could - how they could control it...even though he was sure they really didn't need him to. But now they knew, now they understood what it was like for him. They also touched on Elizabeth's day and her newest client and she admitted he was somewhat demanding but nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

Peter's questions on the time limit was answered later that evening as they settled once more on the couch - Peter with a beer and Elizabeth with a glass of the wine they'd had with dinner. She stretched out her hand and the lights appeared but they both saw they were...off. They flickered, stuttered and blinked for a few minutes then disappeared. Try as she would, she couldn't bring them back. Peter saw her disappointment and pulled her close. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Not your fault, hon," Elizabeth said. "You didn't mean to." She let out a breath. "Yes, I'm...disappointed but magic is more a part of you than it is me." She squeezed his hand. "I've lived without it all my life," she said. "And I only had it for one day, not really long enough to get used to it." She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I'll be fine, hon. Don't worry."

Peter took her at her word. He'd known almost from the beginning that she was resilient so he trusted she'd put the experience in the proper light and move on. "Now we have to see how long Neal keeps his," he said. "But it's probably the same as you." And, since the lights had been interrupted, he opened his own hand and they returned, strong and steady, smiling as he heard her sigh contentedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following this chapter is an explanation of Peter's abilities and their restrictions.


	24. A Brief Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is to answer any questions that might be out there regarding what Peter can and cannot do with his various abilities.

_Colorspray_. This is the instense white light/rainbow lights Peter uses to incapactitate the bad guys. Its area of effect is approximately twenty feet around him. Therefore, if someone was across the street, for example, they'd see it but it wouldn't affect them.

_Darkvision_. Self explanatory. He sees perfectly well in little or no light but only in black and white and just on the visible spectrum. Akin to being totally colorblind.

_Fireball_. Again, self explanatory. He wouldn't be able to throw it any further than the average Major League pitcher, roughly sixty feet. Anything further it would fall short.

_Invisibility_. Self explanatory. However it's doubtful he could make something as large as a building disappear. The upper limit may be something the size of a small SUV.

_Scrying_. This is what allows him to find people or things. A sort of GPS. No effective limit but he has to know who/what he's looking for looks like, either personally or from a picture.

_Timestop_. This is what allows him to stop a person or thing in motion. He must be within 30 feet to have any effect and has no effect on electronics.

_Cure Light Wounds_. This allows him to "fix" minor injuries such as cuts, bruises, sprains, strains, bullet grazes, anything up to light concussions. Anything more severe, he could mitigate the injury but the person would still need medical attention.

_Alter Self_. Allows him to change his appearance, even gender. Human only. However he must retain focus or run the risk of "losing" his identity as Peter Burke.

_Reverse Gravity_. Object or people lose weight but not mass. He must be in close proximity - four or five feet - or the object/person is unaffected. Can make things "fly" but upper limit is unknown due to the possibility of things travelling higher through momentum.

_Temporary Transfer Of Abilities_. Allows him to transfer a specific ability to another person through physical contact. Lasts only twenty four hours and he retains the ability himself.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal undergo some (unofficial) training.

Peter and Neal stood flush against the wall, the concrete chill against their backs, ears straining to pick up the slightest sound. "Ready?" Peter asked, just as the lights went out and they were plunged into darkness.

"Great," Neal muttered.

"Relax," Peter said, laying a hand on his partner's shoulder.

Neal felt a tremor skitter through him and reflexively blinked when light flooded the room. Seconds later, he realized there was no color. "That helps a lot," he said. "Thanks."

Peter gave a short nod. "Let's go," he said.

As they made their way to the door on the other side of the room, Neal suddenly put a hand against Peter's chest and pointed down. There, strung between two pillars, was a thin wire.

"Let's see where it goes," Peter said.

It was Neal's sharp eyes that found it. Perched on a beam was something that looked suspiciously like a bomb. "Give me a lift?" he asked. "I'll see if I can disarm it."

"Careful," Peter said as Neal slowly rose.

A few minutes later, a tell tale light went off and Neal gave the okay signal, slowly settling to the floor. "Let's go."

They made it to the door, sidestepping a small pressure plate, to find it secured by two sturdy locks. "I'll do the honors," Peter said, removing a set of lock picks from the back pocket of his jeans.

"It would have been faster if I'd done it," Neal said as the second clicked open.

"Not by much," Peter said. "After you."

"Nice. You'd sacrifice your partner," Neal said. "You first. You're the trained agent."

"I'm married."

"Are we seriously going to do this? Come on, we're on the clock."

Peter chuckled and opened the door cautiously, looking for booby traps, pressure plates or tripwires. He found them...in spades. Every yard or so was one or more along with ports spaced at regular intervals along the walls. The one bright spot was a ladder affixed to the ceiling.

"Okay, I know how I'm getting up," Neal said. "But I doubt you can jump that high. That's at least ten feet." In response, Peter grasped his shoulder and again a shiver coursed through him. "Peter?"

"You get me up, I'll get you up," Peter said. At Neal's uncertain look, he added, "You can do it. You're a quick study. Now come on."

Neal let out a breath and nodded, slowly raising a hand and grinning when Peter rose. He whistled softly, impressed when his partner hand walked a few rungs then swung his legs up and wrapped them around the ladder, anchoring himself. Neal wobbled a little as he rose then grasped the rung as Peter righted himself. They made their way steadily across the room, dropping down in front of the door. It was secured by three locks and Neal had his kit out before Peter could say a word. Making quick work of them, he eased the door open, immediately seeing two pressure plates - one three feet from the entrance and one halfway into the room. Neither of them saw the tripwire. Only a faint snick warned them before a series of spitting sounds echoed. By reflex, Peter raised a hand and the projectiles froze before they hit.

"Nice save," Neal said just as the blast sounded. Again, Peter froze whatever had been fired. "Buckshot?"

"Can't really tell," Peter said, shrugging a little.

When they got to the door, they found it unlocked, the knob turning easily. They exchanged a look and Peter cautiously opened it. It led to the outside where Moz waited for them with a stopwatch.

"One hour, seven minutes," Moz said.

"Considering most of it was in the dark, I'd say that wasn't bad," Peter said as they reentered the building through a side door.

"Which leads to my questions," Moz said as they entered what could only be a control room with screens lining the walls.

"Fire away," Peter said as they took seats.

"First, how did Neal get through, in the dark, without you leading him and second, how were you both able to fly?"

"Same answer to both," Peter said. "I lent him what he needed."

"Come again?"

"He let me borrow some of his magic," Neal said.

"You have magic?" Moz asked, brows raised.

"Until this time tomorrow," Neal said. "It's temporary."

"When did this happen?"

"A few months ago," Peter said. "I gave El the lights without realizing it. I figured out what happened and Neal volunteered to be a guinea pig."

"So you gave him the darkvision and the neutralize gravity," Moz said. "And it'll last twenty four hours?"

"Seems to be the limit," Peter said.

"Huh," Moz said, leaning back in his chair.

"Now my questions," Peter said. "The bomb. What would have happened if we'd tripped it?"

"Confetti," Moz said. "Next?"

"Third room. Bullets?"

"Paint balls," Moz said. "After that, rock salt. Would have stung but it wouldn't have been life threatening."

"Want to go again?" Peter asked Neal, his mouth twitching in a smile.

"Seriously?" Neal asked, brows raised.

"I can reset, maybe add a few things," Moz said. "Give me a week."

Peter and Moz watched as Neal thought it over, both knowing the answer by the slow smile that curved his mough. "Sounds fun," he said.

"Go ahead and reset, maybe upgrade," Peter said. "Just nothing more dangerous than rock salt, okay?"

"You have my word," Moz said. "Though I can't guarantee you won't get any bumps or bruises."

"Those I can fix," Peter said.

 

"So, you boys have fun?" Elizabeth asked when they reconvened at the Burke house, handing a glass of wine to Moz and Neal.

"I had fun," Neal said. "And I have magic for the next twenty one hours or so."

"Really? Which one?" Elizabeth asked, getting wine for herself and a beer for Peter.

"I can see in the dark and make things fly," Neal said.

"You got two?" Elizabeth asked, settling beside Peter on the couch. "I never got two."

"You never tried getting through rooms loaded with booby traps," Peter said, snugging an arm around her.

"True," Elizabeth said, sipping her wine. "So, are you going again?"

"I was thinking of upgrading," Moz said.

"Oooh, can I be there? I've never seen you in action," Elizabeth said interestedly.

Peter shrugged in agreement. "Don't know when though," he said. "Depends on how long it takes for Moz to finish and on our caseload."

"Nothing interesting right now," Neal said.

"And you know that can change pretty quickly," Peter said.

 

It took a few weeks before they could get back to the warehouse - formerly one of Moz's safehouses - since an art thief kept them busy chasing him from one museum to the next gallery.

"There's no way he's moved all of them," Neal said. "Six in three weeks."

"Not even if he had a buyer lined up?" Peter asked. Neal conceded the point and Peter couldn't resist teasing. "Even you weren't this ballsy."

"I left very few clues behind," Neal said. "This guy, on the other hand, is practically telling us where he'll hit next."

But the he turned out to be a she, surprising them both. "Know who she reminds me of?" Neal asked as Peter put the cuffs on her. At Peter's enquiring look, he answered, "Monica."

"There _is_ a bit of a resemblance, I grant you," Peter said of their suspect. The woman was petite with black hair and light blue eyes and narrow features. "But Monica is a fine, upstanding, law abiding citizen."

"You forgot gorgeous," Neal said teasingly.

Once she was processed and the paperwork finished, Moz informed them the "obstacle course" was ready whenever they were. "And I've upgraded," he said.

"Any surprises?" Peter asked, when they stood outside.

"There are always surprises, Suit," Moz said.

"You two have fun," Elizabeth said, giving them each a kiss on the cheek.

Peter laid a hand on Neal's shoulder as Moz and Elizabeth went to the onservation room and said, "Gotta get you ready."

Neal nodded. "Which one?" he asked.

"All of them," Peter said. "Never know which one you'll need."

"Don't think I'll need to change my appearance," Neal said.

"Point," Peter said. He squeezed Neal's shoulder briefly. "This might take longer than usual."

Neal's heart raced for a few moments then settled into a normal rhythm when Peter removed his hand. As a test, he gestured briefly and a flame appeared in his hand. He gave Peter a nod and they entered. Almost immediately, the lights went out. "Gee, thanks Moz," he muttered.

"Nice of him to make things interesting," Peter said as they made their way cautiously across the room. "You okay?"

"I can see perfectly fine," Neal said, answering the question Peter hadn't quite asked.

The first door wasn't locked so they proceeded cautiously inside, stopping short just inside, each groaning softly at what they found - in short, Moz had gone somewhat overboard. Pressure plates every few feet, tripwires between them and optical sensors lined the walls. The one saving grace was a series of trapeze style bars.

"You realize we'll interrupt the sensors," Neal said.

"Yeah, I noticed," Peter said. "Ideas?"

"Short them?"

"Possibility but I'm not sure how long they'll be offline."

A slow smile spread across Neal's face a few minutes later. "I just had a crazy idea," he said. At Peter's enquiring look, he explained, "Optical sensors, right? If we were invisible..."

"We'll have to be sure the bars don't break them," PEter said, understanding immediately. "Get me up, I'll get you up."

"Vanish first?"

"We need to see each other," Peter pointed out.

"Sorry, still new," Neal said. He lifted Peter up, holding his breath as the bar swung. A boom echoed but Peter froze the blast of rock salt that erupted from a small port under the sensor.

Peter settled on the bar, making sure it didn't swing. "Hang on," he said and vanished.

Neal wobbled slightly as he rose and grasped the bar, brushing against what he assumed was Peter's leg. Settling himself, he asked, "Now what?"

"Disappear," came Peter's voice.

Neal repeated Peter's gesture, seeing his vision ripple. "Good?"

"You're good. Ready?"

Again, their years of working together, anticipating each other served them as they made their way from bar to bar. Only once did they break a beam but Neal froze the subsequent blast of rock salt. As Neal waited, he heard Peter drop to the floor then reappear.

"How many locks?" he asked as he joined his partner.

"Just one," Peter said as the lock clicked open. What presented itself when the door opened was a floor crisscrossed with what appeared to be gunpowder. In a far corner was a glowing spark.

As Peter was about to step forward, Neal stopped him with a hand on his arm. He pointed down. "Tripwire," he said. He knelt, a small flame appearing at his fingertip and he applied it to the powder on the floor. It caught, filling the room with smoke as it burned off. When it cleared sufficiently, they slowly crossed to the door on the other side.

Neither saw the second tripwire.

"Shit!" Peter hissed as an arrow scored his arm before Neal could react.

"Peter!" He looked up. "Moz...you said nothing more dangerous than rock salt!" He took Peter's arm and wiped the blood away, startled when the cut closed and disappeared. "Oh! Forgot about that one," he said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter said. "Wasn't that serious."

"Still, I'm going to strangle Moz," Neal said, frowning.

"Before you kill your oldest friend, let's get his side, all right?" Peter said. "I'm fine."

Neal muttered something under his breath that Peter didn't quite catch and they proceeded to the door. Neal immediately pulled out his kit and set to work, the door opening minutes later. It led to the outside where they found Moz with his stopwatch.

"Moz..." Neal said with a frown.

"What?" His eyes widened when he saw the blood still on Peter's arm. "Suit, what happened?"

"An arrow got me," Peter said.

"Arrow? I didn't have any arrows on this course," Moz said, his brows furrowing.

"What about the last one?' Peter asked. "Could have been a left over."

"You completed that course," Moz said. "No arrows on that one either." He stopped, his eyes widening again. "The last room. It was rock salt and arrows. You only triggered the rock salt. Suit...I am so sorry..."

Seeing the other man's obvious distress, Peter said soothingly, "I know it was an accident, Moz and no harm done really. Just a scratch."

"No arrows next time," Neal said sternly. "If there is a next time."

"No arrows. Got it," Moz said, nodding.

Neal gave him a return nod. "So, time?"

"Wha...? Oh." Moz looked at his stopwatch and said, "One hour, eleven minutes." He looked at Peter, still apologetic. "Listen, Suit...I really am sorry about..."

Peter waved him off. "Don't worry about it, Moz," he said. "Neal took care of it."

"How?"

"Let him borrow everything but the shape change," Peter said as they returned inside. "Didn't think he'd need that one."

"So, how'd you do?" Elizabeth asked when the men joined her in the observation room.

"One hour, eleven minutes," Neal said. "With a slight hiccup."

"A slight..." Elizabeth saw the drying blood on Peter's arm and raised a brow at Moz. "I thought nothing more dangerous than rock salt."

"It was left over from the last time," Moz said. "I thought I had them all."

"It's fine, hon," Peter said, grasping her hands and giving her a quick kiss. "I've had a lot worse."

Elizabeth gave him a nod "So, _will_ you be running another course?" she asked.

Peter exchanged a look with Neal and shrugged. "I'm game if you are," he said.

"Let me think about it," Neal said. "Until then, I have about twenty two hours to play with the magic he let me borrow."

"Which ones did he give you?" Elizabeth asked.

"All of them," Neal said. "Except the shape change. Didn't need that one."

 

They reconvened at the Burke house and Elizabeth fetched wine for Neal, Moz and herself and a beer for Peter.

"So, what'd you think?" Peter asked as Elizabeth settled next to him on the couch while Moz took the ottoman and Neal the chair.

"I thought it was...fascinating," Elizabeth said. "I've never seen you use your magic. Not really anyway."

"Speaking of using magic..." Neal began. Peter raised a brow, inviting him to continue. "I know I'm going to lose this tomorrow but...could you give me some pointers in case I need to borrow it again?"

"Sure," Peter said with a shrug, setting his beer down. "You're pretty good with the fire already..."

Neal's hand filled with flame and he began playing with it. He snuffed it out then, frowing a little in concentration, he gestured and the room filled with colored lights, making him smile in delight. Just for fun, Peter added his own and they gave the other two a bit of a light show.

Peter stopped his and picked up his phone. "Freeze it," he said as he tossed it into the air. Once his partner did so, he said, "Now make it vanish." At Neal's confused look, he went on, "You have all of my abilities, Neal...well, most of them. That means you can use more than one at a time." He took a coaster, tossed it up and froze it at the top of the arc. Passing his hand in front of it, he made it disappear. "Now you do it."

Neal repeated the gesture and the phone vanished. He passed his hand back - as did Peter - and both coaster and phone reappeared. "I could get used to this," he said.

"Looks like you are," Elizabeth commented as Neal once more made the phone go away.

Neal made an 'Eh' face. "Kinda," he said. "I imagine it's easier for Peter."

"Only because I've had it most of my life," Peter said. "But, like I told you, you're a quick study."

Neal brought the phone back and set in on the coffee table, taking a sip of wine. He looked at the older man curiously. "Do you think I'll ever need the shape change?" he asked.

"I can see a situation where you'll need it," Peter said. "Undercover where "you" shouldn't be there or if I can't be someone else. That one you might need a bit of practice with though."

"Huh. I've kinda wondered how it feels to be a woman," Neal said musingly.

"You know how dangerous that one can be for you," Peter said, reminding him of the time Peter himself had temporarily gotten "lost" as Patty. "Besides, I felt like me even when I was Patty or Monica. Should be the same for you under the same circumstances."

"I'd need to keep focus," Neal said.

"Exactly," Peter said. "But we'll worry about that when or if it comes up."

 

"You know, most kids are told not to play with their _food_ ," Peter said teasingly over dinner.

Neal snuffed the fire he had in his hand and mock glowered at his partner. "Are you calling me a kid, Peter?" he asked.

"Well..."

"You have to admit you can be a bit childlike, mon frere," Moz said with a slight smirk.

"Doesn't everyone?" Neal asked. "Well...maybe not Peter..."

"You'd be surprised," Elizabeth said, huffing a laugh when Peter rolled his eyes.

"One of us has to be the adult in this partnership," Peter told Neal, smirking a little.

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm just...practicing," he said.

Peter gave him a nod. "I'll give you some pointers after dinner," he said.

"Outside if you're going to use the fire," Elizabeth said firmly.

"Of course Elizabeth," Neal said as Peter nodded in agreement.

 

As Elizabeth and Moz did the dinner dishes, Neal and Peter went out back to the patio. "Okay, first pointer," Peter said. "Most important too. Don't overthink it."

"I know you don't just react, Peter," Neal said.

"No, I don't just react," Peter said. "After all this time, it's reflex on what magic I use in any given situation. Something flying at me, I freeze it. I need to sneak in somewhere or hide something, I make me or it invisible. You get the idea. There _is_ some thought behind it but not too much." He suddenly grabbed an empty beer bottle and threw it at his partner. Reflexively, Neal threw up his hand and stopped it mid flight, letting out a huff of laughter, eyes wide. "Very good," Peter said approvingly, snagging the bottle and returning it to the table. "Now, give me the light. Full blast."

"Won't that knock you out?" Neal asked curiously.

"Nope," Peter said. "El did it a few times when she had them. Nothing. Now, full blast."

Though a bit uncertain, Neal let loose and an intense white light filled the patio for a few seconds before fading. Peter looked at him with approval and he huffed an almost silent sigh of relief. "So why didn't it?" he asked.

"Best guess is it's still mine," Peter said. "I still have it and it's never affected me. As long as you have it, it won't affect you." To demonstrate, Peter let loose. Neal didn't even blink and could still see perfectly well when the light faded.

"So how do you know which one to use?" Neal asked.

"Usually the first one to pop to mind is the one I need," Peter said, slowly raising the table a few feet. "Of course, if I have time to think, I can choose which one." He set the table back down and gestured at his partner. He caught the faintly mischievous glint as it flashed through Neal's eyes and was prepared when his feet left the ground. Neal's expression was of mixed hurt, irritation and resignation but it was overridden by amusement. "You can put me down now," he said a bit dryly.

"Oh...I don't know," Neal said musingly then yelped a little when he found himself floating as well.

"Are you two done playing now?" Elizabeth asked through the window, stifling a laugh.

"Yes ma'am," Neal said, setting Peter down.

"Peter..." Elizabeth cocked a brow at her husband when Neal remained airborne.

"Come on, Peter," Neal said, trying to keep the pleading note from his voice. He paused a moment then said, "You always said i should keep my feet on the ground...even if you were only speaking metaphorically."

Peter chuckled and set his partner down. "Just remember that old song. Anything you can do, I can do better."

"From _Annie Get Your Gun_ ," Elizabeth said at Neal's questioning look.

"I defer to your superiority when it comes to the use of magic," Neal said. "As you pointed out, you've had it most of your life." He took a seat, waiting for Peter to do likewise before he asked, "About the scrying...can you show me how it's done before I lose it?"

"Sure, hang on," Peter said. He went inside, returning a few minutes later with Elizabeth's hand mirror. He handed it to Neal as he retook his seat. "This one requires more concentration than the others so clear your mind. Focus on who or what you want to locate." The mirror clouded and he saw an image of Moz but didn't say anything. "Now expand the view to give you a general location."

"Oh!" Neal exclaimed softly. "So _that's_ how you do it."

"Neal?"

"It's like I feel a...tug...here," Neal said, touching his chest. "And it gets...stronger the closer I get. But how...? Ah, okay. You get the address in a quick flash."

"For me it lasts about five seconds," Peter said. "Enough time to either memorize it or write it down."

"But you have to know who or what you're trying to locate looks like," Neal said.

"Yeah. I can't locate Moz's parents - for example - because I don't know what they look like and he doesn't have a picture of them," Peter said.

"Would you if you could?" Neal asked curiously.

"Sure," Peter replied promptly. "Least I could do for him after everything."

Inside, Moz stopped what he was doing, setting the wine bottle down and looked at Elizabeth a bit wide eyed. He'd overheard the conversation and was more touched than he'd ever admit to out loud.

"You've kept him safe," Elizabeth said gently. "By keeping his secret. He would find your parents if he could."

"He knows my real name," Moz said then sighed. "But it's a common one. Too common."

"A common name for an uncommon man," Elizabeth said, giving him a brief squeeze and returning his smile with one of her own.

 

Shortly after, Peter concluded Neal's little training session and they joined Moz and Elizabeth for one last drink, everyone glad that it was a Friday evening.

"You know, he hreard you," Elizabeth said as they readied for bed. "About his parents."

Peter didn't seem surprised. "I would if I could," he said. "I know he's wondered about them most of his life and he has a lot of questions." He slid under the covers, holding them up for Elizabeth to slide in beside him. "First and foremost, why they abandoned him at the orphanage."

"I think he believes you would if you could," Elizabeth said.

"I would," Peter said.

"And he appreciates it," Elizabeth said. She settled next to him. "It meant more to him than he'll ever tell you." She leaned up to give him a kiss and to look at him. "Just don't embarrass him with it, okay?"

"Wouldn't think of it," Peter said. He pulled her close...and lights filled the room. He felt her smile and closed his eyes.

 

Back at the loft - alone since Moz was off doing something he didn't bother sharing - Neal sat out on the terrace, idly playing with the fire and the lights, thinking. He knew he'd lose the magic in a few short hours but he was okay with it - he knew if the situation arose Peter would give it back to him. He was honest enough with himself to admit that, had he had magic - Peter's magic - during the chase he might never have been caught. He'd have pulled off more daring heists, leaving law enforcement completely baffled as to how he'd done it. He was also honest enough to admit he felt a spark of temptation but knew he wouldn't give in. Peter trusted him - with his life, his secret, his magic and trust was the greatest treasure of all.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal has to go undercover but can't as himself.

It was bound to happen eventually. Not the going undercover as a team - that had happened more than once over the course of their partnership. This...this was different because their mark (okay, suspect) had made it quite clear that he had it in for one Neal Caffrey. Seems that during Neal's illustrious career on the other side of the law, the excon had taken their suspect for a cool one million dollars by substituting a near perfect forgery for the original he'd been hired to get. Neal had then sold the original for twice that amount.

This information had come out when their suspect, one Paul Goddard, had contacted Peter - in his guise as a somewhat shady art dealer - to help him offload some pieces he'd acquired. Peter, suspicious by nature and by profession, had made it clear that he'd be bringing in an independent appraiser to ensure _he_ wasn't going to be the one getting ripped off. The problem was Neal was the best the Bureau had but he was also the target of Goddard's wrath. Peter didn't doubt for a moment that if Goddard got his hands on Neal, he'd be mopping his partner and friend off the floor...then planning his memorial.

 

"You're gonna have to take me with you," Neal said as they sat in Peter's office. "We know what he has for sale and I'm familiar with every piece he has."

"Neal...you know why that's a bad idea."

"Yeah, I know," Neal said. "My past is about to bite me, rather spectacularly, in the ass. But I'm also the only one who has the requisite knowledge of the pieces. It's not just paintings on the block. It's Egyptian and Grecian antiquities and at least one Remington bronze." He waited as Peter ran through the list of Bureau experts and come to the same conclusion.

"Unfortunately, you're right," Peter said with a sigh tinged with frustration and a trace of worry. "So, sugestions on how to bring you in without actually bringing you in."

Neal settled back in his chair. "Easy," he said. "I go as someone else."

"But he'll..." Peter started then Neal's meaning hit him. "You'll have to borrow my magic."

"You'll have your expert and I'll avoid major bodily harm," Neal said.

"You mean Goddard won't kill you," Peter said.

"Poh-tay-toh, poh-tah-toh," Neal said.

"You'll need to practice," Peter pointed out.

"We have almost a week," Neal said. "And, as you've pointed out on a few occasions, I'm a quick study."

"All right," Peter said though it was clear he didn't relish the idea. This was far from one of Moz's obstacle courses which had been basically harmless. "Male or female?" He saw the glint in Neal's eyes and sighed. "All right," he said again. "We can probably enlist El's help on this. Between the two of you, I'm sure the result will be...satisfactory."

"Have faith, Peter," Neal said, allowing a grin to peek through. "It'll be more than satisfactory."

 

"Are you sure about this, Neal?" Elizabeth asked when they filled her in over dinner. "If this man has it in for you..."

"Hon, he'll be borrowing my magic," Peter said. "And he's decided on female."

"Oh...I keep forgetting you can do that," Elizabeth said. "So you want my help in deciding what he'll look like."

"I need the practice," Neal said. "And this is the safest place to do that."

Talk turned to other aspects of the case - where they'd be meeting with their suspect, how much he potentially had in illegally acquired art, how Neal would be introduced to the team, (Jones and Kelsey would be in the van listening in) and what name Neal would be using. Peter had an idea about that.

"How about Danielle?" he asked. "Danielle Brooks?"

Neal gave him a look that bordered on a glower. "No, Peter. I'm not going as 'Danny' Brooks. I left that name behind a long time ago."

Peter held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Just a thought," he said, unable to stop the twitch of a smile. "All right, not Danielle."

"How about...Sophia?" Elizabeth suggested. "Sophia...Delacroix."

"Yeah," Neal said thoughtfully. "From Paris. I can still pull off a French accent." He gave a nod. "Now, to what Ms. Delacroix looks like." He retrieved his art supplies and settled at the dining room table.

"Dark hair," Elizabeth said. "Long. Maybe middle of the back."

"Don't want her looking too much like Monica so tall," Peter said. "Five six, five seven."

"Brown eyes," Neal said as he drew. "Heart shaped face..."

"Mouth just a little thinner," Elizabeth said. "Not too full lipped."

"And how...voluptuous?"

"Don't want her _too_ sexy," Peter said then raised his brows at their looks. "I don't want to get distracted."

"Okay, a nice, average C cup," Elizabeth said. "I think I have something you could wear. Businesslike but still...feminine."

Forty five minutes later, Neal finished the sketch which showed a dark haired, brown eyed woman of about thirty years of age, faint crow's feet at the corners of her eyes ("Nice touch," Peter commented) pert nose and a mouth that looked like it smiled as much as it frowned.

"Okay, how do I do this?"

"First, you need the magic," Peter said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He concentrated and felt the slight tremor pass through Neal's frame. "Now, just picture what you want to look like," he said, tapping the sketch. "It'll feel a bit strange but it won't be uncomfortable."

Neal drew a breath, fixing the sketch in his mind, gasping a little when he felt his features shift, his body shrink and develope modest curves, his hands becoming thinner, more delecate, his hair lengthening.

Elizabeth got up to get a mirror. "Take a look," she said, handing it to him then held the sketch up for comparison. "Your eyes still have a little blue in them."

He...she nodded and her eyes became a rich, chocolate brown...not dissimilar to Peter's.

"Still has that Caffrey smile," Elizabeth said, sounding amused when Sophia grinned. She offered her hand, looking impish. "Elizabeth Burke," she said. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Madame Burke," Sophia said with a distinct French accent. "A pleasure." She turned to Peter. "And Monsieur Burke."

"Reinhart for the op," Peter said.

"Of course. Reinhart." She looked down at the oversize pants and shirt she wore then at Elizabeth. "You have clothes I can wear?" she asked, accent gone.

"I do but it'll have to wait until the day of," Elizabeth said. "Only twenty four hours, remember?"

"Okay, back to...me," Sophia said.

"Call in sick tomorrow," Peter said when Neal was once more sitting at the table. "The team needs to meet Sophia."

"Gotcha," Neal said. "So, I guess I'll need those clothes tonight."

"And accessories," Elizabeth added.

"And the day of?" Neal asked.

Peter thought for a moment. "Following a lead on our suspect," he said.

"Come on, Neal," Elizabeth said. "Let's see what we've got as far as clothes."

 

"Burke."

"Sir, there's a Sophia Delacroix here to see you."

"Yes, I've been expecting her,' Peter said. "Please, send her up." Peter hung up the phone and kept an eye on the elevator as he waited for Neal. He was admittedly curious about what he looked like. They'd taken the precaution of having Neal spend the night in Brooklyn to avoid Neal running into June and having to explain where Neal was and why there was a strange woman in the loft.

Minutes later, the elevator doors opened and Sophia stepped onto the twenty first floor, dressed in conservative blue slacks, white blouse open at the throat and blue blazer. Completing the look were pumps with four inch heels. Her long hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon and she carried a not quite oversize handbag over her shoulder. As a final touch, he saw her stop a probie and speak to him briefly before the probie gestured up to his office.

"I see what you mean about the heels," Sophia said once she was seated in front of Peter's desk and the office door closed. "Not exactly the most comfortable, are they?"

"Any trouble?" Peter asked.

"No, not really. Elizabeth was a great help," Sophia said. "So, meeting at the usual time?"

"Yeah, in about ten minutes," Peter said. "You're clear on your backstory?"

"All up here," Sophia said, tapping her temple. "Bottom line, it's just another alias."

"You've never gone under as a woman," Peter said.

"No, but it's the same principle," Sophia said. Movement in the conference room next door alerted them it was time for the meeting and they stood, Peter gesturing for Sophia to precede him. "Such a gentleman," she teased.

"Accent..." Peter admonished quietly before they entered the conference room.

"Of course, Agent Burke."

"People, this is Madamoiselle Sophia Delecroix. She's the appraiser I've brought in to help us on the Goddard case," Peter said.

"What about Caffrey?" Kelsey asked. "Why isn't he on this?"

"A couple of reasons," PEter said. "First and foremost, Goddard has stated unequivocably that he'll kill Caffrey should the opportunity arise. Seems our resident ex-felon got on his bad side some years ago."

"And Mme. Delacroix?" Callahan asked.

"Agent Burke and I met while he was in Paris after the museum I work for was burglarized, possibly by Monsieur Caffrey," Sophia said. "He was most helpful in that matter so when he contacted me concerning this case, I was glad to offer my assistance." She let out a breath. "Since I've been given only the basic facts of this case, perhaps you can give me the particulars you have."

 

Peter kept an eye on the time so he could be sure Sophia could leave before the magic wore off so she could get back to Brooklyn where Neal's clothes were waiting for him. Fortunately, his team was efficient, giving her the salient facts, outlining the op and what they hoped the result would be. Sophia, for her part, asked only relevant questions, taking precise notes on each piece Goddard purportedly had.

"Thank you, ladies, gentlemen," Sophia said with a nod. "I hope we can accomplish the goal we have set ourselves. These works should be reutrned, if at all possible, to their rightful owners and I am priviledged to be considered a part of doing so." She gathered her notes and stood. "Bon jour." She turned to Peter. "Agent Burke, a word in private, sil vou plais."

"Taking the con to a whole new level," Peter said, amused, once the door was closed.

"Well, you said I was the best," Sophia said, returning the smile. She grimaced slightly and shifted her weight. "I know I still have a few more hours but do you mind if I cut out? My feet are killing me."

Peter chuckled. "No, go ahead," he said. "I can sympathize. I'll give El a call and tell her to expect you." He sobered. "Just be ready in a few days when we meet with Goddard."

"I will be as long as I have the magic," Sophia said.

"I'll give it to you before the pre-op meeting," Peter said. "Kelsey will wire you."

"Not you?"

"You'll be a woman," Peter reminded her. "It would be...unseemly."

 

The day of the meet came and Neal disappeared to "follow a lead, tracking down another victim". In reality he went to Brooklyn where Elizabeth once more helped him don the Sophia persona, complete with suitable business attire, before dropping her off at the Federal Building.

After a quick run-through, Kelsey took Sophia aside to get her wired and do the sound check. "You're ready," Kelsey said. "You were told the extraction phrase?"

"Agent Burke has filled me in," Sophia said. "I'm to authenticate the pieces Monsieur Goddard has for sale and identify which have been stolen. Once I do that, I'm to say how fortunate I am to have had the opportunity to regard such works up close."

Kelsey nodded. "Okay, you're set," she said. "Stay safe and good luck."

"Merci."

 

They met with Goddard in an apartment that bordered on opulent near Midtown. It was filled with pieces that Sophia immediately identified as either stolen or missing - some of which Neal himself was responsible for. She also noted a few that were forgeries.

"Mr. Reinhart," Goddard said.

"Mr. Goddard, this is Mme. Sophia Delacroix," Peter said. "She's here to make sure we...stay honest."

To their surprise, Goddard began speaking rapidly in French, almost as if he were daring her to keep up. Sophia had no problem in doing so and there followed a quick exchange of questions and answers. "And now, Monsieur Goddard, if we may see the pieces, we can conclude our business here."

One by one, Goddard brought out the pieces and Sophia examined them. To most it would have seemed somewhat cursory but Sophia - Neal - had done her homework. That, in addition to her extensive knowledge of both artwork and artist, allowed her to make a determination. All in all, there were over two dozen pieces. Finally, Sophia straightened and said, "Thank you, Monsieur. I am most fortunate to have had the opportunity to regard such works up close." Minutes later, Peter's team came through the door and cuffed Goddard while other agents secured the scene for ERT.

"You'll be staying through the wrap up?" Callahan asked Sophia as Goddard was led away.

"If Agent Burke has no objection," Sophia said, looking the question at Peter.

"If you'd be so kind," Peter said. "I realize you need to get back to Paris soon but we'd appraciate your help."

"I have until tomorrow to catch my flight so I'll help while I can," Sophia said.

 

The rest of the day was spent cataloging and identifying the artwork recovered from Goddard's apartment, finding not only authentic pieces reported either stolen or missing but half a dozen forgeries. Included were three Remington bronzes, one of which was fake.

"And he bitched about Caffrey ripping him off," Peter commented.

"Do you think he knew they were fraudulent?" Sophia asked.

"It's possible," Peter said. "Either way, we have him on possession and sale of stolen property. He'll be inside for a while."

"Threatening a Federal contractor?" Sophia asked, making sure no one else could hear.

"Possibly. We'll see," Peter said.

 

At the end of the day, Sophia bid good bye to the team and made her way to Brooklyn where Elizabeth waited for her.

"Will Peter be long?" Elizabeth asked through the guest room door as Sophia changed back to Neal and changed clothes.

"He shouldn't be," Neal said, opening the door. "But you know how he can get. If you want, I can go drag him home."

"We'll give him a few more hours then we'll see," Elizabeth said. "For now, tell me what it was like."

 

Peter arrived home before Elizabeth's arbitrary deadline to find his wife and his partner at the dining room table discussing wine, art...and women's fashion.

"One day as a woman..." Peter said, amused, shaking his head.

"Never know when it'll come in handy," Neal said. "And Elizabeth has been a font of knowledge." He leaned back in the chair. "I still don't understand about the heels though."

"Not the most comfortable. Trust me, I know," Elizabeth said. "But a lot of woment wear them to be taller...like me. But it's how they...enhance the figure. Back's straighter, shoulders back, legs longer, more shapely. Don't tell me you've never noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed," Neal said. "I just didn't know it was the shoes that did it."

"Well, now you know," Elizabeth said. "And you never answered my question. What was it like for you, as a man, to be a woman?"

"Peter hasn't told you?"

"He told me what it's like for _him_. I want to know what it was like for _you_ ," Elizabeth said.

"It was different, of course," Neal said. "I guess, for me, it was the change in how people percieved me. Men were more...deferential, more courteous. I had no trouble catching a cab..."

"You rarely do anyway," Peter said a bit dryly.

"That's beside the point," Neal said. "All in all, it wasn't an unpleasant experience. I wouldn't say no to doing it again." He considered a moment. "Except maybe without the heels."

"You just need practice," Elizabeth said, patting his hand before getting up to start dinner.

"You know, my feet are still a little sore," Neal said as Peter took a seat opposite him. "And I swear I almost twisted my ankle."

"I know, I know," Peter said. "Been there, done that, remember?" He reached across and grasped Neal's hand. "What I usually do after a big case like this is give Elizabeth a little light show...sort of a way to unwind."

Neal shivered a little. "So you want me to this time?" he asked.

"If you want," Peter said. "Or we could do it together."

"When?"

"Usually after dinner."

 

Perhaps coincidentally - but probably not - dinner was a simple meal of common French dishes paired with a nice Burgundy.

"Delicious as usual, Elizabeth," Neal said as they took seats in the living room. He exchanged a look with Peter and they simultaneously opened their hands, filling the room with overlapping and merging colors, watching as Elizabeth's face lit up with delight. "Peter told me you like them," Neal said.

Elizabeth settled against Peter, laying her head on his shoulder and sighed. "My boys."


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal asks Peter for a big favor...

Elizabeth looked up at the knock on the door, a faint frown creasing her brow. "Neal!" she said, finding the ex-con standing somewhat diffidently on the stoop. "What brings you by?"

"Is Peter here?" Neal asked as he stepped inside.

"Yeah, he's out back," Elizabeth said. "Go on."

Neal gave her a nod and Satchmo a distracted pat as he crossed to the back door. Stepping ouside, he saw Peter scrubbing the grill. "Peter?"

"Hey Neal. What's up?" Peter asked, wiping his hands. "Have a seat."

"I need to ask you for a big favor," Neal said once Peter joined him at the table. "A _really_ big favor."

"Can't promise but go ahead."

"I need to borrow some magic. The scrying and the invisibility," Neal said.

"May I ask why?"

"I need to get something," Neal said.

Peter regarded the other man for a moment. "Are you going to steal something?" he asked, the question merely curious.

"No...yes...sort of," Neal said then sighed.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" Peter asked. "Tell me what's going on."

"A few months ago, I met this woman at that gallery opening I took Elizabeth to," Neal said. Peter nodded. "Anyway we - the three of us - got to talking and Elizabeth mentioned that I had some talent."

"More than a little," Peter said.

A smile flickered across Neal's face then he sobered. "Anyway, she asked me if I'd agree to doing her portrait. I said yes and over the course of our sessions, we got to know each other quite well." He saw Peter's expression and shook his head. "Not like that," he said. "She's an older woman, probably old enough to be your mother." He paused. "She got in touch with me last week and told me a necklace of hers was...appropriated and, since I work with the FBI, she asked me if I could help her get it back."

"Was it stolen? Does she know who did it?"

"She does," Neal said. "She reported it to the police but the man showed them what he claimed was proof he owned the necklace legitimately - a handwritten bill of sale with her signature."

"If that's the case..."

"Peter, I saw it too," Neal said. "It's a forgery."

"You're sure?"

"Who do you know that knows forgeries better than I do?" The question was rhetorical and Peter didn't answer. "She wouldn't sell it for any amount. It's an heirloom, passed down through at least six generations of her family. I've seen the portraits. Every last one of them show the necklace. It would be like Elizabeth selling her grandmother's quilt. She wouldn't"

Peter searched his face, looking for the signs of deception that had been there so many times early in their partnership and found none. He listened to his gut as well and felt nothing. "All right. Why hasn't she come to the Bureau with this? Technically, it's our bailiwick, not NYPD."

"I asked her the same thing," Neal said. "She said since the cops dismissed it, the Bureau probably would as well."

"How does she know this man has it?"

"She saw it on his girlfriend at one of those society functions," Neal said. "It's a very distinctive piece. Custom made. I doubt she was mistaken."

"So, this man stole it or had it stolen and produces a phony bill of sale so he can claim legal ownership," Peter said. "And you want to retrieve it for her."

"That and the bogus bill of sale," Neal said. "I don't want him to have any chance of getting it back." Neal leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I promise that's all I'll take," he said. "I don't care what else this guy has. I just want to give Virginia a piece of her family history back."

A memory floated into Peter's mind. A drugged up Neal, slumped on a conference room floor, telling him "It's not about the money, it's about the _people_..." He nodded. "I'm assuming that since you asked for the scrying, you don't know where this guy lives," he said.

"Moz found out he has an apartment here in New York and a house in the Hamptons," Neal said. "It could be either place."

"And the invisibility?"

"In case he's in residence when I go get it. Not to mention security." He looked at his partner, a little unsure. "I know it's a lot to ask," he said. "Especially when it's not case related, when it's personal...but I'm asking."

"I think you should let him," Elizabeth said from the door.

"You heard," Peter said, not surprised.

"He wants to do this for the right reasons," Elizabeth said. "I know, technically it's stealing but is it really so wrong to steal from a thief? He just wants to return what's rightfully hers."

"If I do this, you'll bring both to me? Let me have the handwriting analyzed so there's zero doubt?" Peter asked.

"I promise," Neal said.

Again, Peter studied the other man, looking for the 'con face'...and found it absent. "All right," he said. "Tell me when you want to try since it's only twenty four hours." The relieved sigh and near blinding smile he received told Peter the same thing as his gut - Neal wasn't looking to score, he wanted to return his friend's property.

"It's my understanding that he and his girlfriend will be attending a black tie event this weekend," Neal said. "I'd like to get it before then."

"Really? What event?" Elizabeth asked.

"The charity ball at the Grand. Why?"

"As it happens, I'm organizing that event," Elizabeth said casually. "That's what I was working on when you got here. Slight problem with a supplier." Her mouth twitched in an impish smile. "If you tell me what this creep looks like, I could arrange for his evening to be less than pleasant."

"El..." Peter said, sounding exasperated.

"What? He stole an heirloom. Why should he get to enjoy himself?"

"Your heart is in the right place - both of you - but I don't think that's necessary," Peter said. "So when does it start?"

"Officially, it starts at eight," Elizabeth said. "But I imagine the guests will start arriving around seven, seven thirty. And considering how long some women take to dress for one of these things, Neal would probably want to get it early afternoon at the latest."

"That's what I was thinking," Neal said. "It'll give me time to figure out where his safe is once I know where he has it."

"So, scrying first then, once you know, the invisibility the day of. Want some company?"

"I don't want to chance you being implicated," Neal said. "If it's here in New York, I can get there myself."

"And if it's not?"

"Moz," Neal said simply. "Once I have it and the bill of sale, I'll bring them here and you take it to the Bureau for analysis."

"I'll need a sample of her handwriting," Peter said.

"I can probably get that tomorrow," Neal said.

"Okay, now I need a mirror," Peter said. "Well, Neal will since I don't know what the necklace looks like. Hon, could you?"

Elizabeth disappeared into the house, returning a few minutes later with her hand mirror and handed it to Neal. She watched as Peter laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder and saw a faint tremor go through him.

With a nod, Neal concentrated, frowning faintly as he got a fix on the necklace's location. "Good news," he said a few minutes later. "It's here in New York. An apartment on Central Park West."

"Ritzy," Elizabeth commented.

"If he lives in that neighborhood, why would he steal _anything_?" Peter asked. "He could afford whatever he wanted."

"It's a one of a kind piece," Neal said. "Unique. I understand the appeal of having something like that even though I've never takien anything I _knew_ was part of a family's history. Wanted to once but Moz nixed the plan. Refused to help."

"Really? Why?" Elizabeth asked.

"He's an orphan."

"He really has no family history," Peter said, understanding. "At least, not that he knows. I guess depriving someone of a part of theirs wouldn't sit well with him."

 

Neal once again called on Moz to get him the floor plans for the apartment so he could begin narrowing down likely places for a safe.

"The Suit knows you're doing this?" Moz asked.

"He's helping actually," Neal said. "Indirectly anyway."

"His magic," Moz said, understanding. "So this guy, Camden? Took Mrs. Graham's heirloom necklace and you're getting it back for her."

"That's the long and short of it," Neal said. "The plan is, I borrow the invisibility, get into Camden's apartment, crack the safe and get the necklace and bill of sale. Once that's done, I promised Peter to deliver both to him so he could have it analyzed for authenticity at the Bureau."

"But you're sure the bill of sale is fake," Moz said.

"Positive," Neal said. "But you know Peter. He wants someone impartial to verify...and I can understand that."

Moz looked over the floor plans spread out on the table thoughtfully. "In a place like this, a safe would most likely be here..." He ponted at what was probably a walk in closet. "Or here." He indicated a space labeled "study/office."

"I'll also check behind any painting large enough," Neal said.

"That'll take time you may not have," Moz said. "I can do recon if you want."

"How would you get in?"

"Delivery," Moz said. "Must be signed for by the recipient. Or an inspection of some sort. Gives me reason to check the entire place."

"Exterminator? Excuse to keep them out," Neal said.

"I'll make up the work order."

 

The plan didn't go quite as expected since Camden refused to leave the apartment while Moz did recon under the guise of inspecting for any code violations. It wasn't a complete bust however and Moz was able to get the relevant information.

 

"How'd it go?" Neal asked when Moz came to the loft.

"Some hiccups but I know where the safe is," Moz said.

"How'd you find it?"

"Camden showed me...not that he meant to," Moz said. He pulled the floor plans over and indicated the office. "Here," he said. "Gas fireplace, flagstone hearth, under the center stone."

"Electronic?"

"Tumblers," Moz said. "What little I saw of it, it's nothing we haven't dealt with before. You shouldn't have any trouble with it."

"You didn't happen to get a look at his schedule, did you?"

"Unfortunately, no," Moz said. "But I can keep an eye on his comings and goings for the next few days to get a feel for it."

Neal felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. "Thanks Moz. I appreciate it."

"I know why you're doing this and I approve," Moz said. "And obviously the Suit has no problem with it..."

"Once I have a good idea of the best time..."

"Once _we_ have a good idea," Moz corrected.

Neal gave him a nod and a smile. "Once _we_ know, I'll need a ride over there. I'll have the invisibility for twenty four hours and I don't want to waste any more time than necessary in transit."

"I'll fire up the cab."

 

For the next few days, Camden had an unseen shadow, tracking his every move to and from his Central Park West apartment. A pattern quickly emerged - out the door at eight o'clock, home for lunch at eleven until noon then gone until four.

"His girlfriend?"

"Didn't see much of her but indications are she has her own place," Moz said. "The apartment has a distinctly masculine air. No feminine touches." He regarded his friend. "The charity ball is this weekend," he said. "The best time would be Friday afternoon."

"Neal nodded. "I'll let Peter know," he said.

"You won't be missed at the Bureau?"

"I'm sure Peter can find me something to do outside the office," Neal said. "The Goddard case? Who do you think Sophia was? The team never suspected I _wasn't_ out chasing a lead."

 

Friday morning came and Neal brought Peter up to speed. "I need this afternoon," he said. "From what Moz found out, my window is between noon and four. It won't take me that long but I like to have the wiggle room."

Peter sorted through the casefiles on his desk then pulled one out. "Your new case," he said.

With a somewhat confused look, Neal paged through the file. "This is straight mortgage fraud," he said.

"I know," Peter said then nodded toward the bullpen. "But the team doesn't."

Understanding dawned. "So...I think I'll have a few leads to follow up," Neal said.

Peter escorted him to the door, the hand on the small of Neal's back nothing unusual, something he'd done hundreds of times. Only he was close enough to see the faint tremor that passed through his partner. "One more thing," he said. "Get a sample of _his_ writing if you can."

"Why?"

"To see if he's the one who wrote that bill of sale. If he did, we can get him on forgery as well as theft. Or at least possesion."

"I'll do my best," Neal said. He held up the casefile. "Time to follow that lead."

He texted Moz on the way down, waiting only a few minutes before the other man rolled up in a somewhat dilapidated cab. "Let's go."

"You have it?" Moz asked.

"For the next twenty four hours," Neal said.

"And the Junior Suits?"

"Think I'm out following a lead."

 

Half an hour later, Moz pulled up to the curb half a block from Camden's building. "I'll wait here," he said. "Now go."

Neal slipped out of the cab and walked up to and into the building as if he had business with a tenant, giving a pleasant - if somewhat distracted - nod to the doorman. He made sure he was alone in the elevator, finding the one blindspot for the camera and vanished, seeing the ripple through his vision. As a precaution, he peered into the elevator's reflective surfaces...and saw nothing.

Once on Camden's floor, he made his way to the apartment and quickly gained entrance. Automatically, he noted the rather nice art on the walls, mentally calculating their value on the black market but didn't look closer as he made his way to Camden's home office. Not surprisingly it was locked but he made quick work of it and was soon inside, moving to the fireplace.

"Center stone," he said to himself, kneeling on the plush carpeting. Feeling around, he found the crack and slid the stone to the floor, revealing the rather ordinary safe. Keeping an ear out for unexpected visitors, he bent down and turned the dial, listening for the tumblers to fall into place.

 

Finally, he heard the last one fall into place and twisted the handle and the safe opened, revealing its few contents - which included the necklace he was after. Though curious, he left everything else alone once he located the bill of sale. Setting everything back the way it was, making sure nothing looked disturbed, he set about looking for a handwriting sample. The only thing he found was a page full of notes on the desk. Not ideal and would surely be missed but he could find nothing else so he took it. He quickly left the office, relocking the door and made his way out of the apartment.

When the elevator opened, he was startled when he came face to face with none other than Camden even thought he knew he couldn't be seen. He was so startled that he almost missed entering the car before the door closed. "Knew I should have taken the stairs," he said to himself.

He found Moz waiting for him as promised, spooking the other man a little when he climbed in. "Sorry," he said, becoming visible.

"You get it?"

"Right here," Neal said, patting his pocket. "I told Peter I'd meet him at his house."

"Brooklyn it is."

 

"That was quick," Peter said, seeing Neal on the couch when he came home.

"For all the ritzy address, his security leaves something to be desired," Neal said.

"This it?" Peter asked, indicating the necklace of pink and blue topaz set in silver as he sat next to Neal.

"Told you it was a unique piece," Neal said. He laid out a series of photographs showing the portraits where the necklace appeared. "These show seven generations of women, all wearing it."

"The samples?"

Neal pulled two sheets of paper over. "Camden's," he said, indicating the sheet of yellow legal paper. "And Virginia's." A third sheet of paper. "The bill of sale. I'm no expert but even I can see it's not her writing."

"Doesn't quite look like Camden's either but we'll see what the Bureau experts have to say," Peter said. His brows rose slightly. "He said he bought it for just a few hundred grand?"

"A piece this distinctive, this old, made of pink and blue topaz...even if he _did_ buy it, he still stole it," Neal said. "It's worth three or four times that. At minimum. This color topaz is very rare, especially stones this size."

"All right, let's get this stuff back to the office," Peter said, gathering the papers, photos and necklace.

 

It took a few hours to get the handwriting samples analyzed even though Peter put a rush on it. The results weren't surprising - no match to Mrs. Graham's and a ninety one percent match to Camden's.

"He tried to disguise his handwriting," Peter said.

"He at least should have tried to get a sample of Virginia's," Neal said. "This is just sloppy."

There was a tap on the office door then Kelsey stuck her head in. "Sir, we just received a report of a stolen necklace," she said. "The gentleman's on his way here."

"He give a description?"

"Pink and blue topaz. Silver setting. Said it's worth a few million which is why he called us."

Peter gave her a nod. "Send him up when he gets here," he said.

"Camden," Neal said when Kelsey left. "Probably found it gone when he went to check on it."

"Probably," Peter agreed. "I know you're not that careless."

"Not this time," Neal said.

"How fast can Mrs. Graham get here?" Peter asked.

"Why?"

"She'll need to identify the necklace as hers and I'm sure she'd like to get her property back...and confront the man to took it,' Peter said. "Not to mention the satisfaction she'll get from seeing him realize he's well and truly busted."

"I like the way you think," Neal said, pulling out his phone. He spoke for a few minutes before hanging up then said, "She said she can be here in half an hour. Camden will be here before her."

"You think I can't stall him while taking his statement?"

 

Fifteen minutes later, Camden arrived at the white collar offices, practically demanding to see the person in charge.

"That would be me," Peter said. He indicated that the other man follow him to his office and saw him settled in the visitor's chair.

"My name is James Camden and I insist you locate and return my property."

"All right, slow down. Now tell me, what's been stolen?"

"As I told your subordinate, a necklace of blue and pink topaz in a silver setting was stolen from my apartment this afternoon. I want it back."

"Okay, take me through your day," Peter said. "When did you first notice the piece was missing?"

As Camden talked, Peter saw the elevator open and an elderly but capable looking woman dressed in a conservative but stylish pantsuit pushed through the doors. He saw Neal get up to greet her and came to the conclusion she was Mrs. Graham. He caught Neal's attention and indicated he bring her up into his office.

"As it happens, Mr. Camden, we've located the necklace already," Peter said. "Along with the rightful owner."

" _I'm_ the righful owner!" Camden protested as Neal showed Mrs. Graham in. "I have proof!"

"You mean this?" Peter asked, laying the fraudulent bill of sale on the desk. "We've had our analysts take a look at it and they've concluded it's no more Mrs. Graham's handwriting than it is mine. However, there's a ninety one percent match with yours."

"My necklace!" Mrs. Graham exclaimed when Peter laid it on the desk. "Please...may I?"

"You'll have it back by the time you leave, Virginia," Neal said softly but he looked at Peter.

"Of course," Peter said. "Now Mr. Camden, here's what's going to happen. You're going to be charged with theft, possesion of stolen property and forgery."

"You can't prove I had it," Camden said, sneering a little.

"I have your statement," Peter said. "You reported the theft of a blue and pink topaz necklace, not only to my agent but to me. You spent the last half hour telling me how your apartment was broken into and this necklace was stolen. Mr. Caffrey here is something of an expert when it comes to jewelry and he assures me that topaz in these colors is quite rare, especially of this size."

"Most people have no idea topaz comes in these colors," Neal said.

Peter then laid out the photographs. "These are portraits currently hanging in Mrs. Graham's home," he said. "What do they all have in common?" When Camden didn't answer, he went on, "This necklace is an heirloom and Mrs. Graham hardly seems to be in such financial straits that she would consider selling it."

"I'd never..."

"He knows," Neal said softly.

"There's only one way your sentence gets any shorter," Peter said to Camden. "If you didn't steal it, you tell me who did,"

"Am I under arrest?"

"You will be," Peter said. "I've told you what the charges are. We have proof you didn't buy the necklace, we have your statement and that of Mrs. Graham that you had possesion of it, we have the forged bill of sale." When Camden said nothing, he asked Neal to get Jones. Minutes later, Camden was cuffed and led from the office. Peter sighed then smiled at Mrs. Graham, handing her the necklace. "Yours, I believe."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Allow me," Neal said, taking the necklace and fastening it around her neck. "Beautiful. And I don't mean the jewelry."

"You're such a charmer," Mrs. Graham said.

"He is but he's not wrong," Peter said.

"Would you mind...?" Neal asked, tilting his head toward the door.

"Not at all," Peter said. "Kinda slow today. El would like you to come to dinner...if you're available."

"I'll be there," Neal said then added as he and Mrs. Graham were at the door. "And Peter...? Thank you."

Peter nodded. "Go on. I'll see you later."

 

"So, happy ending?" Elizabeth asked.

"For everyone except Camden," Peter said, accepting the beer she handed him. "You should have seen her face, El. I've never seen someone so relieved...so happy to have something returned."

"It was very important to her, hon," Elizabeth said. "It's her history, something that reminds her of where she came from, that she belongs." She sipped her wine. "It's like my grandmother's quilt," she said. "Did I ever tell you where she got it from?"

"I thought she made it."

"She did...with _her_ grandmother," Elizabeth said. "So really, it goes back to my great great grandmother. That quilt is part of my history, unique to just me, just like this necklace is to Mrs. Graham. Yes, it's a one of a kind piece but it's _her_ one of a kind piece." There was a knock on the door and Elizabeth got up to answer, once more finding Neal.

"I come bearing gifts," Neal said, hefting a bottle of wine. "From Virginia."

"Neal, you know we can't accept gifts..." Peter started.

"As an agent, I know you can't," Neal said. "And I explained that to Virginia. That's why she gifted it to me. As a contractor, I don't fall under those restrictions. I'm merely sharing _my_ gift with my partner and his wife.."

Elizabeth needed no further convincing and went to get glasses as Neal opened the bottle. "Come on, Peter," Neal said. "One glass. You know, I know and Elizabeth knows you did your job without thought of gain, financial or otherwise. This is just a thank you from a woman who is very grateful to you for returning what was hers."

Peter gave him a somewhat rueful smile and took the glass Elizabeth handed him and held it as Neal poured. He raised it as the others raised theirs, the crystal ringing faintly as they touched. "The next time you see Virginia," he said. "Tell her...she's very welcome."

"I can do that," Neal said. "I think she thinks she can't thank you enough. What you did was like giving her the greatest gift imaginable."

"You did most of it," Peter said. "I just let you do what you do best."

"You did good, sweety," Elizabeth said. "You saw how much it meant to her, how she felt having it taken and did everything you could to get it back for her."

"She's right, Neal," Peter said. "You're the real hero in this case, not me."

"Thank you for trusting me with this," Neal said. "I know I haven't always made it easy."

"It was easy...because I remembered something you said to me years ago," Peter said. "You once told me it wasn't about the money, it was about the people." He ignored Neal's somewhat confused look and said, "You did the right thing just because it was the right thing to do...maybe not strictly by the law but as El said: is it really so wrong to steal from a thief? In this case...I don't think so." He took a sip of the wine then said, "And don't hesitate to ask me about borrowing my magic. You know now that I'll let you if there's a good reason, case related or personal." He laid a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Your turn." He sat back and smiled as Neal filled the room with colored lights.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes back to Club Merlin and this time Neal gets to be part of the act.

Peter waited until the team filed into the conference room and took seats before passing out the casefiles.

"What's the case?' Neal asked as one slid down the table toward him.

"We're going back to Merlin," Peter said.

"Another money laundering operation?" Kelsey asked.

"Not this time," Peter said. "Credit card numbers are being stolen and bank acounts are being drained. A few hundred to a few thousand is going missing from each. So far, it's estimated that close to a hundred grand total has been taken."

"You gonna do your magic act again?" Jones asked.

"If they'll have me, sure," Peter said.

"I understand you have a few more tricks up your sleeve," Neal said.

"Could be," Peter said. "But first, background checks on all employees. See if any of them are living beyond their means. Everyone from the owner to the guy who sweeps the floor."

 

Once they were in the office, Peter said, "You could be part of the act."

"Don't you want Elizabeth as your assistant?"

"She still can be if she's not busy," Peter said. "I meant we could be a double act."

"Like Sigfreid and Roy or Penn and Teller," Neal said. "Okay, which ones would I borrow?"

"The fire, the lights, invisibility, neutralize gravity and the timestop," Peter said.

Neal nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can work with those...hey, can you freeze the fire?"

"I don't know," Peter said. "I've never tried. Why? Do you have an idea?"

"I think so but where to test it," Neal said.

"June in town? Maybe we can use the terrace," Peter said.

"We still can," Neal said. "She doesn't barge in on me...like a certain someone I know used to."

"Moz?" Peter asked, brow raised in amusement.

"Him too," Neal said casually.

Peter chuckled. "I haven't done that in a while," he said. "Anyway, one idea I had was we play catch with the fire."

"You'll _have_ to do your finale," Neal said. "That's what everyone is still talking about."

 

They spent the rest of the morning bouncing ideas off each other - including what to do for the audience participation. Now that Peter had the neutralize gravity it opened up possibilities. Once they had a rough plan, they started digging into the financials of the club's employees. A few of the hostesses seemed to look good for it until Peter brought up the fact that their income included tips. From their last time there, they knew those tips could be quite generous.

"Well, whoever's doing it they're playing it close to the vest," Neal said. "We'll have to look for skimmers like we did at Giselle's."

"You mean you and Monica," Peter said.

"You know what I meant," Neal said, rolling his eyes a little. "Hostesses, cashier, bartenders. They'd be the most likely."

 

"You're going back to Merlin?" Elizabeth asked when Peter got home and filled her in. "What is it this time?"

"Stolen credit card numbers," Peter said. "People are having money taken from their accounts. It's gotten into six figures."

"They're sure it's from Merlin?"

"Sure enough," Peter said. "That's why we're going in."

"So you'll be a magician again?"

"Thinking about it," Peter said. "Neal too. You want in?"

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "I'd love to but my schedule is crazy," she said. "I have the Meyerson wedding, a charity auction and Mrs. Graham has asked me to help plan her grandson's engagement party."

"That's not too much, is it?" Peter asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"No, I don't think so," Elizabeth said. "I've got Yvonne and I have a temporary hire - Melanie - to help out. She's working out very well. I may keep her."

 

The next day, Peter contacted the manager about perhaps bringing his act back to the club, smiling when he heard her enthusiastic agreement. 

"Just tell me what you need and I'll have it ready."

"Just the ladder," Peter said. "My partner and I will have everything else."

"Headliner?" Neal asked, amused, when Peter got off the phone.

Peter shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Can't really tell the manager why we're there since, right now, she's on the suspects list."

"You'll need stage crew then," Neal said.

Peter looked out over the bullpen, thinking. He had people in mind but really, the fewer, the better. Jones was almost a given - the younger agent had become his right hand since Diana transfered. He blew out a breath. "Jones...and Kelsey," he said.

"Jones is sharp," Neal said. "He could put two and two together and figure out it's real magic."

"Yeah," Peter said. "I like smart but..." He pursed his lips, thinking. "We'll have to do without stage crew," he said. "They'd be in charge of setting everything up. Kelsey and Jones would notice the lack of equipment."

"You know...you could pass on the platform," Neal said. "Most people can figure out that the space underneath is a hiding place."

"Have an audience member inspect the stage for trapdoors?' Peter asked.

"Well, we _will_ have audience participation," Neal said. "A member for the levitation?"

"They'll have to be, I don't know, put into a trance or something. Think you could?"

"Power of suggestion," Neal said. "I have some experience with that."

"No kidding," Peter said, wryly amused. "Okay, let's review. First, we start with the fire..."

"Darkened room," Neal said. "More dramatic."

 

That weekend, while Elizabeth was busy, Peter and Neal practiced on the terrace at Neal's loft, tossing the fire back and forth between them, gradually increasing the distance until they were about fifteen feet apart. It was Neal who discovered that the fire could indeed be frozen midflight. Peter had just tossed a fireball and, spur of the moment, Neal waved and the flame stopped, burning in mid air.

"Now, put it out," Peter said and Neal reached up and closed his hand around it, snuffing it out.

"We could do that instead of the torches," Neal said.

"How many can you handle?' Peter asked.

"How many can you give me?' Neal asked in return.

"Let's not go overboard, okay? Six or seven should be enough."

 

Before they realized it, June tapped on the door and asked if Peter would like to stay for dinner.

"I wouldn't want to impose..." Peter said.

"Nonsense," June said dismissively. "It's no imposition, Peter dear. You know you're always welcome."

"Let me call Elizabeth." Peter stepped out onto the terrace to place his call, speaking for a few minutes, telling Elizabeth of the invitation.

"Actually, it's perfect," Elizabeth said. Her voice became a little muffled as she said, "No Carla. Move those centerpieces to the main table." Then she was back. "I won't be home until late so you go ahead and have dinner with Neal and June. It'll give the two of you more time to practie too."

Once she hung up, he turned back to June. "Elizabeth won't be home until late so I'd be delighted to accept your invitation."

"So, what have the two of you been working on all day?" June asked as the three of them went downstairs. "Interesting case?"

"The case, not so much," Neal said. "But our part in it, _that's_ what's interesting."

"Oh? Do tell," June said.

"You've heard of Club Merlin?" Neal asked when they were at the table and he poured wine for the three of them.

"I've heard of it but it's not the kind of place I'd frequent, seeing I'm...of a different generation," June said.

"Oh, you have to come, June," Neal said. "You'd love our magic act."

"Magic?" June asked interestedly. She looked between the two men. "I get the feeling this is more than just card tricks."

"There will be a few," Peter said. "But yeah, more than just card tricks."

"Can you show me? Just a little one."

Peter gestured for Neal to go ahead, smiling at June's delighted expression when the dining room filled with muted colored lights, then made her laugh when his joined Neal's.

"That was wonderful," June said when the lights faded. "But I won't ask how you did it. I know all about the magician's code."

"So you'll be there?" Neal asked. "I'm sure we can get you in."

"I wouldn't miss it," June said.

"One more?" Neal asked, quirking a brow at Peter.

Peter shrugged agreeably and slowly the bottle of wine rose a few inches then settled back.

"Oh, now I'm really curious," June said. "I can't wait to see what else you can do."

"You're in for a real treat," Neal said.

 

Since the manager had seen Peter's act before, there was no need for them to audition and Peter told them they'd be ready by the end of the week. Meanwhile, the rest of the team continued their digging into the financials of everyone who worked at the club.

"Very close to the vest," Neal said. "Still nothing that points to anyone."

Peter tapped his pen on the file, frowning thoughtfully. "Any part time employees? Regulars?" He shook his head. "No, regulars wouldn't have access to the credit cards."

"Unless..." Neal started and Peter raised his brows, inviting him to continue. "Unless there's a pickpocket among the regulars."

"No reports of cash going missing," Peter said. "Just money from the accounts."

"Get more money from accounts than from wallets or purses," Neal said.

"You'll need to give a refresher course on what to look for," Peter said. "Which means we need to get more people in to watch the hostesses, cashier and bartenders."

"If we can clear the manager we could get the whole team in," Neal said.

"Or even better. We ask the owner," Peter said.

"And if he's behind it?"

"I don't think he is," Peter said. "But we'll talk to him, see what he says."

 

"Someone's using my club to steal?" the owner, a Mr. Gilroy, asked incredulously. "Are you sure?"

"The evidence we have points to that," Peter said.

"What do you need from me?" Mr. Gilroy asked.

"I'd like to get my team in there as patrons, staff or both," Peter said. "We'll keep our eyes open for any suspicious activity."

"How many?" Mr. Gilroy asked after a few minutes thought.

"Ten, including myself and my partner," Peter said.

"Of course, Agent Burke," Mr. Gilroy said. "Anything you need. Just put a stop to it."

"That's the plan," Peter said. "And thank you for your cooperation."

"Glad to help," Mr. Gilroy said. He paused as he left, frowning a little. "You wouldn't happen to be the Peter Burke that Ms. Carmichael was going on about last year, would you? The magician?"

"Yes, that would be me," Peter said, smiling a little.

"I've heard amazing things about you," Mr. Gilroy said. "I look forward to seeing you perform."

"So, what do you think?" Neal asked once the man left.

"He's clean," Peter said. "He was only too happy to cooperate."

"So, I've got a class to teach," Neal said. "Who's going in with us?"

"Jones, Kelsey, Callahan, Blake...Duggar...Wilson..." Peter paused, thinking. "Benson...and Corey."

"Benson? You're sure?"

"Yeah. I've noticed she's quick to pick up on things that are slightly off," Peter said. "If there _is_ a pickpocket, she'd be the one to catch them."

 

In the days leading up to showtime, Neal gave a crash course on how to spot a pickpocket - Peter was right about Probationary Agent Benson. She caught him nine times out of ten - then practiced with Peter after work with Elizabeth lending a hand when she could. Then they went over who'd do what trick when and when they'd use audience members. Being a double act, they could both go into the crowd to do close up magic.

 

"Ready, you two?" Elizabeth asked when they were waiting backstage.

"Are you sure you don't want to be in it?" Peter asked. "You can, you know."

"Too late for that, hon," Elizabeth said. "You have the routine down. Adding me would only throw you off." She gave him a quick kiss. "You'll be great."

Peter nodded to the lighting director and the main room went dark, with only the candles on the tables giving any light. Their darkvision kicked in immediately so they had no trouble making their way to the stage.

A gasp sounded when a rainbow lit the room for a few seconds then small fireballs began moving across the stage, arcing up as they traveled from one side to the other. Suddenly, one stopped at the top of the arc and was followed by five others and six small flames hung suspended. One by one they fell and were snuffed out as the lights came up.

Peter and Neal bowed as applause filled the room before they faced each other, each with a deck of cards. Taking turns, they tossed the cards one by one and freezing them until both decks were hanging mid air. A few seconds later, they fell and they bowed to a round of applause.

They turned to the audience and, as Neal retrieved a length of cloth, Peter indicated a gentleman sitting near the stage. "You sir, would you mind coming up here to verify that there are no trapdoors or hiding places?" As the man mounted the low stage, Peter asked a woman at another table to come up and do the same thing. As the two did as requested, Peter caught the eyes of his team, silently asking for a progress report - none had anything but Benson indicated she might have something. He gave her a slight nod as the two audience members finished their inspection. Having found nothing, they made their way back to their seats. Neal raised the cloth in front of him and saw his vision ripple slightly before Peter pulled the cloth from his grip. Just before Peter raised it again, he saw Benson zero in on a patron just as she slipped her hand into a purse hanging on the back of an adjacent chair.

"At least one pickpocket," he whispered to Peter as the cloth came up. "Benson has her."

Peter nodded fractionally and pulled the cloth down once more to reveal Neal. As they made their way into the audience, they saw Benson unobtrusively escort the woman out.

They stopped by a few tables, making things float, hover and/or disappear - and Neal couldn't resist flirting - then Neal led an attractive young woman up to the stage, putting her at ease when she startled when she began floating. Together, he and Peter maneuvered her until she lay on her back about waist high.

"There's cables holding her up!" someone said loudly.

"No there isn't!" the woman said just as loudly, twisting toward the voice. Peter steadied her as she began tipping.

"Easy, just relax," Peter said as Neal handed him a large hoop. "Will the gentleman who made the comment please join us on stage?"

A young man looking to be in his early twenties practically strutted onto the stage. "My father's a magician," he said. "I know all the tricks."

"If you'd do the honors..." Peter said, handing him the hoop then he and Neal stepped back. They exchanged a grin as the young man ran the hoop over their volunteer without meeting any obstructions and saw his confusion.. He even ducked down, looking from underneath. Still confused, he returned the hoop to Neal before resuming his seat. Neal took the woman's hand and helped her to her feet, escorting her back to her chair.

When Neal rejoined Peter on stage, they took their places by the twenty foot ladder and they heard someone comment, "This is going to be really good. Watch."

"Ready?" Peter asked softly and received a nod. There was a gasp as Neal slowly rose to the top where he grasped the last rung and turned around to face the audience with a cheeky grin.

Peter saw Neal's grip loosen then the other man fell, causing a horrified gasp from the audience. Their relief was almost palpable when Neal stopped short three feet from the stage.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?" Neal whispered as Peter helped him right himself.

"Sorry," Peter whispered back. "But on the bright side, they loved it."

"I should do the same to you," Neal mock threatened.

"But you won't."

"No, probably not," Neal conceded.

They turned and bowed, leaving the stage to thunderous applause where Elizabeth met them back stage.

"That was fantastic, hon," Elizabeth said.

Just then, Jones approached and Peter asked for an update. "Benson caught one pickpocket," he said. "And Blake saw three hostesses with skimmers. All are in holding at the local precinct."

"Think that's it?" Peter asked.

"Sir," Duggar said as he joined them. "I think I have a line on the ringleader."

"Who?"

"The assistant manager," Duggar said. "He looked more than a little concerned when the hostesses were taken out. He looked nervous."

"How nervous?"

"Like he was about ready to bolt," Duggar said.

"Hey!"

The shout brought their attention to the audience and Duggar, Neal and Peter saw Corey take a firm grip on the wrist of a woman in her thirties. She held a wallet in her hand. They saw Jones approach, take the wallet from her and hand it to Corey then escort her out.

"That's two," Neal said.

"Get the assistant manager,' Peter said. "We'll take him in for interrogation."

 

Interrogation had to wait until the next day and got them nowhere. The hostesses and the pickpockets refused to answer any questions, lawyering up almost immediately. That left the assistant manager, who, while not as forthcoming as they wished, intimated he was working for someone in addition to Mr. Gilroy. The only other bit of information they got was the actual ringleader had connections in the government.

"We may never ger this guy," Neal said. "Do you have nay idea how many people have government connections in this town?"

"Too many," Peter said with a sigh. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a few moments. "Let's offer him a deal," he said. "He said this guy comes to the club fairly regularly..."

"Yeah, to tell him what accounts to hit and how much money to get," Neal said. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we offer him a deal - get the charges reduced for getting this guy on tape conducting his business," Peter said.

"Turn him informant," Neal said. "So when's he due back?"

"Let's find out."

 

Once presented with the deal and what would result if he declined, the assisant manager agreed to wear a wire when his "boss" came to the club. They had three days to get the deal approved, which came the day day he was due to deliver his instructions.

That night, Peter and Neal put on their show as they had the three nights previous, taking turns with who climbed the ladder for the finale. Again, the manager - and the owner - was close to ecstatic at the packed house as people lined up to see their act - which somehow stretched from an hour to an hour and a half...partly because Neal seemed to flirt with almost every woman in the audience as he performed tricks at their tables. They also added both of them levitating simultaneously right before the grand finale.

 

Finally the operation wrapped up with the arrest of the real ringleader, an AUSA running for office. Once they had her name, they were able to trace the stolen money to an offshore account. The grand total was over a quarter of a million over the course of a year. They also got a surprise when they found out the pickpockets they'd arrested had nothing to do with the ring - they'd been there because there were a lot of rich marks.

 

That evening, they went to June's where Elizabeth joined them for dinner.

"So, what did you think?" Elizabeth asked.

"It was marvelous," June said. "Especially that last bit. I thought for sure Neal would end up in the hospital after that."

"I'd never let that happen, June," Peter said.

"I know, Peter," June said with a smile. "And even though I'd love to know how you did it, I know better than to ask. And, no offense, but I never dreamed you had such hidden talent."

"No offense taken," Peter said, returning her smile. "Sometimes I surprise myself."

"You'll have to let me know if you go back."

"If we do, you'll be the first to know."

 

"So, what were you and JUne talking about before we left?" Peter asked as he and Elizabeth drove home.

"She was wondering if I'd help organize a benefit she wants to hold to raise moeny for a new wing at the childrens' hospital," Elizabeth said. "And if you and Neal would be interested in putting on your magic act."

"I'm sure Neal would do it," Peter said.

"And you?"

Peter pretended to think it over before a smile curved his mouth. "I think it'd be fun," he said.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds himself in his worst nightmare.

Peter tensed when he woke, something - his gut probably - told him he wasn't where he was supposed to be. His eyes opened as memories flooded back but he kept himself still, intuiting that others were waiting for him to stir. Dangerous others.

He cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered - leaving a store run by a person of interest in their latest case, the sudden feeling of something wrong before his vision blacked out, the smell of burlap as a bag was pulled over his head, arms wrenched behind his back and being shoved into a vehicle...then blankness until he woke up. It reminded him - too much - of the time he'd been set up by Lang to get kidnapped by Keller's goons. But he knew he wasn't in a cell - at least no cell he was familiar with.

Knowing he could draw it out only so long, he let out a long sigh and turned to his back, taking in his surroundings as he sat up. The room was a featureless white, flourescent lights brightening the room, making it more stark. The walls were bare of any decoration and the only furnishings were the cot he woke on, a small table and two metal straightback chairs. Taking up most of one wall was a mirror. Peter recognized it as the same type as that in any interrogation room. One exit/entrance was to his right - steel reinfored wood, he was willing to bet and undoubtedly secured. A secondary door led to a bathroom equipped with sink, toilet and shower. There were no windows but Peter hadn't expected any.

"Mr. Burke, so glad you're finally with us."

The voice came from a speaker set flush in the wall by the mirror. Closer examination showed the camera mounted up in the corner opposite the door.

Peter scooted back on the cot, leaning against the wall. "It's Special Agent, of the FBI," he said. "And who the hell are you?"

"You can call me Dr. Marcus," the man said.

"And why was I kidnapped?" Peter asked. "Because I _was_ kidnapped."

"We wish to study you, Mr. Burke," Dr. Marcus said. "You have some fascinating abilities. We wish to know more. And don't bother trying to deny it, Mr. Burke. We've been watching you for some time now, noticed discrepencies in your reports to your Bureau superiors to what evidence says actually happened."

The words chilled Peter though he didn't react. Not many people were cleared to read his reports and at least one was eyes only. "So who do you work for?" he asked.

"I work for people who wish to take advantage of your particular skills," Marcus said. "They want us to find the extent of those skills, perhaps discover where they originate and hopefully find a way to transfer those skills to others."

Peter kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to give anything away, especially since he did't know how much they knew.

"I know what you must be thinking, Mr. Burke but be assured we have countermeasures in place should you try to leave. Flame retardant clothing for your fire, dark goggles for your light, thermal imaging for your invisibility."

Peter hid a smirk. They didn't know the half of it. He still had at least two he could use offensively...and some very effective camouflage. He relaxed against the wall. "So what now?" he asked. "And don't bother asking me where I got them because I haven't the slightest idea. Been asking myself that question for years. No, my parents didn't have it, my sister either. No unusual stories in the family history. Their origin is as much a mystery to me as they are to you."

"That's only one thing we wish to discover," Marcus said. "Working theory is it's genetic."

"Then working theory is wrong," Peter said. "My parents couldn't do anything like it."

"Sometimes a generation or two is skipped."

Peter silently conceded the point. "What else?"

"That you're not human."

"I'm as human as anyone else," Peter said. "I'll show you my birth certificate if you want. Show you the video my dad took when I was born."

"Birth records can be falsified if one has the right connections. Video can be faked."

"My dad was blue collar, a bricklayer," Peter said. "My mother was a school teacher. They wouldn't have had the necessary connections. And do you have any idea how hard it would have been to fake 8mm film...in the nineteen sixties?"

"Difficult but not impossible," Marcus said.

"Whatever," Peter said, making himself sound bored. "So...when do you start your little scientific inquiry?"

"After you eat," Marcus said. "An associate will be in shortly with a tray...and forget any thoughts you may have on using the opportunity to leave. She will be accomanied by an armed escort who has orders to shoot should you try."

"Not much good if I'm dead."

"Oh, not to kill, Mr. Burke, just to disable."

A few minutes later the door opened and a woman in her mid thirties, wearing a white lab coat, dark hair pulled up in a bun and glasses with thick black frames entered, carrying a tray, accompanied by the promised armed escort dressed in typical military attire and carrying what looked to Peter's eye like a Glock 9. He knew he could disarm the escort even if the man fired before he got close but Peter wanted to keep that particular ability under wraps.

"Here you are, Mr. Burke," the woman said, setting the tray on the table. "And since we'll be spending a lot of time together, you can call me Alicia."

"You'll be the one running the tests?" Peter asked as they took seats at the table.

"And getting your history," Alicia said. "My job is to find out everything I can."

"And what are the penalties if I refuse to give you the information you want or fail to perform?" Peter asked as he began eating the rather tasteless meal of mashed potatoes, meatloaf and green beans.

"We don't want to punish you,' Alicia said. "We want to learn."

"I'm sure," Peter said. "But you didn't answer my question."

Alicia drummed her fingers in the table for a moment then said, "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Burke - I know you appreciate that. If you fail to provide the requested information or fail to comply, you'll be given certain...pharmaceuticals to secure your cooperation."

"In other words, I'll be drugged into submission," Peter said.

"So you realize it's in your best interests to cooperate," Alicia said.

"I'll cooperate," Peter said. "But I won't make it easy. If you want to know something you can find out the hard way. And, since you seem to appreciate honesty as much as I do, I'll tell you this up front - if I say I don't know, you can believe it. First and foremost, I have no idea where I got these particular abilities. I didn't lie to your boss about that. I don't know and I've given up trying to find out."

"Then perhaps we can help you with that," Alicia said.

When Peter finished eating, Alicia pulled out a syringe, four vials and a rubber strap from her pocket. "We'll start with blood tests, Mr. Burke," she aid, securing the strap around his bicep. "Once those are complete, we'll proceed with genetic tests."

Peter winced a little as the needle penetrated a vein in his elbow and he watched as the vials were filled. "I assume I should get used to this," he said as the last vial filled.

"We'll be taking samples periodically," Alicia said. "MRIs as well as stress tests. You'll also be expected to demonstrate your abilities."

Peter nodded. It was much like he expected and he heard no hint, saw no indication that they knew or suspected he could do more. "Are you allowed to tell me anything about this place?" he asked. "How many people? How big? Where it's located?"

"All I can tell you is we're a small group - three technicians, one administrator and myself," Alicia said.

"Military personnel?"

"Paramilitary," Alicia said. "One squad leader with six men." She regarded him seriously a moment. "They _will_ shoot you Mr. Burke. No questions, no hesitation if you try to escape. I doubt you could incapacitate all of them before they do."

Again, Peter hid a smirk. They had _no_ idea and he was determined to get out before they even had an inkling. "What about you? What's your story?"

"Graduate of MIT, majored in biology, focusing on genetics," Alicia said. "And I"m not bragging when I tell you I'm considered one of the best geneticists in the country. I was on the verge of a breakthrough in Parkinson's research when I was offered the opportunity to study you. If there _is_ a genetic component to your abilities, I believe I'll be the one to find it. Perhaps find others with the same markers. Barring that, I believe I can discover a way to give those abilities to others."

"To what end? Assemble an army of super soldiers?" Peter asked. "This isn't the comics. You won't be able to produce a Captain America. But say you can. How will you be certain the transfer is permanent? Or that the recipient won't have an adverse, perhaps fatal reaction?"

"I'll admit the answers to those questions are predicated on what we discover," Alicia said. She took the seat across from him, leaning forward. "First and foremost, I'm a scientist, Mr. Burke. I seek to cure diseases, prevent them, help make mankind better."

"And I'm just a lab rat," Peter said. "Have you thought of the possible consequences if the wrong person gets my abilities? Gets it in their heads that they're better than everyone else? What's to stop them from killing people because they're convinced it's no big deal?"

"Do you think you're better than everyone else, Mr. Burke?"

"Not for a minute," Peter said. "I value human life despite what someone's done. I could have killed the man who abducted my wife but I didn't. I'm not saying I haven't killed using my abilities because I have. Once. The man shot my partner, point blank, and I lost control." He leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. "As a result, I lost that ability for two months afterward. It was like I lost an essential part of myself. You can't guarantee that someone else will care, that someone else won't enjoy having that kind of power."

"I'm sure there are tests..."

"Those can be manipulated," Peter said. "I know someone who can give you any result he wants on any test he's given...and you'd believe them. I have yet to meet the trained psychologist who can catch it."

"But you can," Alicia said.

"Because he trusts me. He trusts me enough to _let_ me catch him," Peter said. "It's like a game with us now. He'll try something knowing full well I'll find out, I call him on it and we go on. We've done that dance for years, it's pratically routine now, almost an integral part of our relationship."

"And who is this person, Mr. Burke?"

"My friend," Peter said. "My best friend."

"And if he was brought here?"

"You have no reason to," Peter said. "He's useless as leverage, so is my wife. I"ve already said I'd cooperate. Ask anyone who knows me. I keep my promises."

"Do you promise not to try to escape before we learn everything we can?"

Peter sat back. "I'm not stupid," he said. "I believe it's the first duty of any prisoner to try to escape and despite my treatment so far, I know very well I'm a prisoner. So no, I won't make that promise. I _will_ try to escape. And not to brag but I'm smart enough to figure out how... _without_ getting shot."

Alicia stood, gathering the samples. "You'll be confined to this..."

"Cell," Peter said.

"This cell," Alicia conceded. "When you're not undergoing the testing. A guard will be stationed outside at all times in the event you somehow manage to open the door." She paused as she reached said door. "As I"m sure you're aware, you're being monitored at all times," she said.

"No reasonable expectation of privacy," Peter said. "Of course not."

"Only in the bathroom, Mr. Burke," Alicia said. "I have no interest in your hygiene habits."

"Good to know," Peter said.

And it was. Like every bathroom, his had a mirror and, since he needed to attend to certain bodily functions anyway, he took the opportunity to see what was happening at home. The scene that presented itself was familiar from when he and Neal had been held in Glen Cove - agents at the dining room table with a trap and trace on the phone, tracking equipment to trace any might-be ransom call, Elizabeth sitting on the couch with Moz and Neal beside her, all looking pensive and scared. He concentrated a little more and heard Neal say, "You know they'll do everything they can to find him. Jones is looking at surveillance and traffic cams and Moz has his contacts looking as well. You know him. He'll find a way to come home."

Peter reached out and lightly touched Elizabeth's image. "I will, hon," he said softly. "I'll come home. I promise."

 

He was awakened early the next morning by lights flooding the room and a not so gentle pounding on the door before it opened, admitting Alicia and her escort. "Come now, Mr. Burke. Time to start," she said.

"Breakfast first?" Peter asked, sitting up.

"I need to examine you when you're not at physical peak," Alicia said. "MRI, physical exertion then a demonstration of your abilities."

"I'm a dead shot with a gun," Peter said. "Wanna see that too?"

"You will not be allowed firearms, Mr. Burke," Alicia said. "Like you, I'm not stupid. Neither is Dr. Marcus."

"Can't blame me for trying," Peter said, running his hands through his hair.

"I don't," Alicia said. "I expect you to." She waited until he slipped on the laceless footwear then beckoned him over. "First the MRI," she said. "Follow me."

Peter fell in behind her, very much aware of the armed guard behind him. He followed her through sterile hallways with concrete walls, cheerless as his cell, to a room that looked like it was straight out of a hospital, dominated by the MRI machine. The guard stopped at the door, taking position in front of it out in the hall. Besides himself and Alicia, there was one technician manning the controls of the machine.

"You've had the procedure before, Mr. Burke?" Alicia asked.

"I've had a concussion or two," Peter said. He positioned himself on the platform and waited as she placed the cage over his head, hearing the machine power up. Despite his situation, he admitted he was curious about the results and hoped she'd explain the scans to him. He startled a little as he slid into the heart of the machine, the bangs as it scanned echoing in the room.

"Please produce the fire, Mr. Burke."

He considered refusing for a split second but did as ordered, flame filling first one had then the other and he let it grow until his hands were engulfed in flames, a brief vision of Corman burning at the storage facility flashing across his mind.

"Mr. Burke, what just happened?"

"Have you ever seen - or smelled - a human barbeque, Alicia?' Peter asked in return. "Not pleasant in the least. Trust me."

Alicia didn't comment and instead said, "Now the invisibility."

With a sigh, Peter brought his hand down and saw his vision ripple faintly. He hated what was happening but he had no doubt he'd be drugged into complying...and he didn't know what he'd reveal if he were. He knew he had no control when he was sick and refused to chance showing them how much they didn't know.

"Now the light. We're protected."

He glanced down his body, seeing both Alicia and the technician had donned dark glasses. He'd have to tell Neal to invest in a pair when he got out of there. The room filled with white light for a brief moment then faded. Seconds later, the machine powered down and he was released. "So what's the verdict?' he asked, sitting up.

"It's the oddest thing," Alicia said, a frown touching her brow. "Your scans are consistent with a normal human."

"So much for your 'I'm not human' theory," Peter said. "I told your boss I was. The blood tests?"

"Still being conducted," Alicia said.

"Got a cheek swab? I'll give you a sample right now."

"In my lab," Alicia said. She made a few notations on the clipboard she carried, gesturing for him to follow her and again, they made their way through barren hallways until they entered a well lit lab filled with equipment Peter didn't even want to guess at. He seated himself on the stool she indicated and she proeeded to give him the most thorough examination he'd ever received that didn't involve changing into a hospital gown. Once finished, she took the cheek swab then handed it to another technician for testing.

"When did you first discover you had these abilities, Mr. Burke?" Alicia asked after a moment. "And what order? If you recall."

"The light was first," Peter said. "I think I was about ten or eleven. Then it was the invisibility. I was a freshman in high school so about fourteen. The fire, I was fifteen."

As she was making her notations, the technician returned. "Doctor, the results of the bloodwork are done," he said, handing her another clipboard.

Peter waited patiently as she studied the results, his gut telling him that she wouldn't find anything unusual. He was proven right when Alicia asked, "Are you sure the results are accurate?"

"Of course, Doctor," the tech said. "I ran the tests three times to be sure."

"Yet another nail in the coffin of the I"m not human theory," Peter said. "MRI normal, blood tests normal. That leaves the genetic. And if there are no unusual markers?"

"There may still be," Alicia said, undetered.

"And if there aren't?" Peter asked. "No unusual markers mean little chance of being able to transfer them. I'm no scientist or even a doctor but the only way to transfer my abilities is through gene therapy. Correct? If my genes are no different than anyone else's then that goes out the window. Has it occured to you that it's purely mental?"

"That's one possibility,' Alicia allowed.

"And if it is, no possibility of transfer," Peter said. "I can't teach someone to do what I do. It's not a skill I can pass on."

"You're trying to say we're wasting our time," Alicia said.

"You may be," Peter said. "And before you say it, I refuse to work for your employers. Someone tried that before. They're in prison now."

"How did you avoid it?"

"They didn't have me under twenty four hour surveillance and I got some major dirt on them," Peter said.

"Perhaps we're fortunate those conditions don't apply here."

"Oh, I'm sure your boss has plenty of dirt," Peter said. He leaned forward a little. "Word of warning - if you or your boss piss me off, I could destroy this entire facility."

"You forget, we have countermeasures," Alicia said.

"There's always a way around them," Peter said. "My partner taught me that."

"I don't suppose you'd tell me or at least give me a hint," Alicia said.

Peter let the smirk show that time. "In case it slipped your mind, I'm not stupid," he said.

 

It was some days - weeks? - later that he almost slipped and showed them another ability. He'd cut his finger helping Alicia clean up some broken glass from when she dropped a vial and was just about to heal it before he caught himself. If he showed them one they didn't know about, they'd suspect he had others less innocuous. Instead, he allowed Alicia to clean and dress it.

And each night, when the lights were shut off, he checked on Elizabeth, grateful when he saw either Neal, Moz or both with her. He suspected the camera was equipped with thermal imaging so he kept it short to avoid suspicion, never staying longer in the bathroom than a shower could account for.

 

Each day was a repeat of the first one - the MRI as soon as he woke, then breakfast, more bloodwork, more cheek swabs despite nothing out of the ordinary showing up on the tests. Interspersed with those were the physical workouts. Running miles on a treadmill, lifting weights until his arms felt like wet noodles and after each round more blood was drawn, another MRI. On the bright side, he was in the best shape he'd been in since he was an agent in training at Quantico.

And all the while, he studied his prison - both his cell and the facility as a whole - looking for ways out and formulating a plan. He found a key component as he was being led to yet another lab and he could practically _smell_ the generator. He also noticed the paramilitary men were becoming lax with their countermeasures - he'd been compliant thus far and they were becoming complacent. That would definitely come in handy. The question foremost in his mind was could he live with himself if he ended up killing the people working there? He knew they had an evacuation plan - all facilities of this sort did - but he also knew he could prevent anyone from escaping. As near as he could tell, the place was underground - in more ways than one. He remembered the aftermath of Corman's death vividly but he couldn't afford concrete evidence of his abilities to surface or he'd end up in this situation again eventually. And the potential for blackmail had already been established by former agent Duryea of the CIA. He had to decide if self preservation was worth more than a dozen lives.

"What should I do, El?" he asked her image in the mirror. "I don't want this to happen again. Or the blackmail but I don't want to kill people who are just doing their jobs."

"Come back to me hon. Just...come back. I don't care how. Just please...I miss you so much..."

 

He got his chance almost two weeks later as he was led to the lab to be put through his paces and they passed the generator room. He suddenly turned and froze the guard then Alicia in quick succession, blasted through the door and threw half a dozen fireballs straight at the generator, overloading it. The facility was plunged into darkness, only the sparks providing sporadic, short lived lighting and Peter made his way to where he was pretty sure the records were being kept, easily avoiding the rest of the guards as they fumbled around in the dark, probably trying to locate their thermal imaging or nightvision goggles. He wished them luck. He, of course, had no problem navigating his way around.

He had to look in a few rooms before he found what he was looking for, smiling when he found filing cabinets full of the research he was at the center of. To avoid detection as long as possible, he simply dropped a small fireball in each drawer then closed it almost shut to keep the fire from going out due to lack of oxygen.

He peeked out the door, seeing a couple of guards stumble past, feeling along the wall to find where they were headed. At the end of the hall, he saw a door open and Dr. Marcus looked out, blinking in the inky blackness. "Mr. Burke!"

"Fuck you," Peter muttered then reentered the room, lifted the (very warm) cabinets and wedged them in the office doorway. Next, he went for the MRI, lifted it and shoved it up against the ceiling, seeing cracks spider across the room. He doubted he'd damaged it that severely but whoever had financed the operation might find it too expensive to try again with all the other damage he'd done so far. All the research had been destroyed so they'd have to start from scratch - and find people who were willing to participate once word got out about what he'd done. There were some abilities they couldn't counter without resorting to tranquilizers but he doubted they'd want to chance the potential consequences of doing so. After all, he'd come close to torching his own bed and he'd just been feverish at the time. Who knew how sedatives would affect his magic?

He passed the guard and Alicia - still frozen - on his way to where he'd figured out was the exit, encountering the rest of the guards. Without thinking, he lifted them, leaving them floating near the ceiling - much as he'd left the MRI - ignoring their somewhat terrified yells.

He found the exit, coughing a little from the smoke that was beginning to fill the halls and shoved the door open. Warm, bright sunshine greeted him as he stepped outside. The door was set in the side of a small hill and he turned to contemplate it, trying to figure a way to block it. He found nothing he could use but with everyone either trapped, frozen or floating, there was little chance of him being followed. The spells would remain in effect until he cancelled them. Part of him felt horrible for how he'd left them but a larger part felt justified. After all, he'd been kidnapped, taken from his wife, friends and colleagues and treated as a lab rat, as something unnatural, a curiosity. As not human.

Walking partway around the hill, he found something he should have known was there - a small parking lot. He chose the largest, heaviest vehicle and maneuvered it in front of the exit and left it there then - mentally thanking Moz - hot wired another, his next order of business finding out exactly where he was.

It might as well have been in the middle of nowhere. The sun was beginning to set when he finally found signs of civilization in the form of a gas station, a small store, a few houses and a diner. He pulled into the gas station and made himself as presentable as he could before going inside.

"HI," he said to the attendant. "I'm a little lost. I wonder, could I use your phone?"

"The attendant - a middle aged man who looked more than marginally bored - nodded agreeably and gestured to the old touchtone phone on the counter.

"Thank you." Peter waited until the man went back to his magazine before angling himself so the glass surface became reflective. Seconds later, he saw Elizabeth, Neal and Jones in the dining room, the trap and trace equipment still set up on the table. He quickly dialed the house, watching as Elizabeth answered.

"Hello?"

"Hon," Peter said, unable to stop the smile.

"Peter! Oh God! Where are you? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know, I'll tell you when I get home and no," Peter said. "Have Jones look up this number." He gave them the number printed on the tiny slip of paper inserted over the keypad then paused. "How long?"

"Almost three months," Elizabeth said. "God, we've been so worried...Everyone's been looking - the team, Neal, even Moz - but you just vanished..."

"I know and I'm sorry," Peter said.

"Not your fault," Elizabeth said. "Everyone knows that."

"Got it, Elizabeth, Neal," Peter heard Jones say in the background. "Upstate New York. Huh..."

"What is it?"

"You're not too far from where you grew up, Peter," Jones said, coming on the line.

"Really?" Peter asked, surprised. "How far?"

"Fifteen, twenty miles east," Jones said. "You're just off Highway 87."

Peter sighed. "While it's great knowing where I am, it'll take me hours to get home," he said. "I'd stay here but I have no cash, no way to pay for food or a place to stay tonight."

"Where, exactly, are you right now? Where are you calling from?" Jones asked.

"I'm at a gas station," Peter said. "There's a diner across the road but nothing that looks like a motel or hotel." His attention was brought to the attendant when the man waved his hand. He excused himself from Jones and addressed the other man.

"I couldn't help overhearing," he said. "You're broke and far from home, right?" Peter nodded. "Hungry too, I'm thinking." He handed Peter a twenty, saying, "Here, take this, go over to Connie's and get you something to eat."

"I...thank you, Mr...."

"Carlson," he said. "And no need to thank me..."

"Peter. Peter Burke."

"I'm glad to help, Peter," Mr. Carlson said. "Not enough common decency these days. Now, finish your business, get something to eat then you can wait here until your friend gets here."

"Jones?"

"I heard," Jones said. "I should be there in a few hours if I break a few traffic laws."

"Just flash your badge, I'm sure they'll give you a pass," Peter said, amused. Once he hung up, he turned to thank Mr. Carlson again.

"Your friend a cop?"

"Federal agent," Peter said. "So am I."

"I'm guessing...FBI."

"White Collar, Manhattan Field Office."

"Maybe you can tell me..after you eat."

 

After a meal of a perfetly cooked steak, baked potato and salad, along with a beer, Peter returned to the gas station to wait with Mr. Carlson - James - until Jones arrived, passing the time swapping stories of their childhoods, sports experiences and jobs. He wasn't in the least surprised to find Elizabeth had come along when she jumped out of the car and into his arms. "I missed you so much," she whispered in his ear.

Peter was vaguely aware of Jones talking to James as he repeated Elizabeth's sentiment, holding her tightly. "I'm fine, hon. I promise," he said softly. "They took care of me."

"What did they want?"

Peter pulled back a little to look at her. "Lab rat," he said.

"They know?" Elizabeth asked anxiously.

"But they have no proof. Not anymore," Peter said. "I did...a lot of damage before I got out."

Elizabeth knew there was more he wasn't telling her but wisely didn't ask. She nodded. "Let's get you home."

 

Peter woke from a light doze when Jones pulled up to the house in Brooklyn to find Neal and Moz waiting for them.

"I'll have someone get the equipment tomorrow," Jones said as Peter and Elizabeth got out of the car. "You could use some time with Elizabeth, I'm guessing."

"I'm sure I'll have plenty," Peter said. "I know to expect a few appointment with the psychologist after this."

"I'll see if you need to recertify," Jones said. "You _were_ gone for a while."

"I think I'm about due for requalification, if memory serves," Peter said. He rapped lightly on the roof of the car. "Thanks Jones."

"Anything you need, Peter."

"I'll give you the short version now,' Peter said once he was inside, knowing the other three were wondering. "The full story tomorrow."

He ended up telling them the entire story from the time he woke in the cell to his call home, stressing that, even though they'd held him prisoner, he'd been treated well.

"All that and they found nothing unusual?" Moz asked.

"Not a thing," Peter said. "MRI, blood tests, genetic tests, all normal," Peter said then stifled a yawn.

"Time for bed, hon," Elizabeth said, standing and pulling him to his feet. "Moz, Neal, you're welcome to stay if you want."

"I'll take the couch," Moz said.

Peter barely stayed awake long enough to get ready for bed and after he was, he tumbled into bed, vaguely aware of Elizabeth climbing in beside him and putting his arms around her.

 

"Hon...hon. Wake up. Please..."

"El?" Peter coughed, aware of his scratchy, dry throat. His eyes slit open and he saw Elizabeth hovering over him with tear-stained cheeks but the brightest smile he'd ever seen.

"Where...?"

"You're in the hospital."

"Hos...hospital?"

"Yeah, the hospital."

"What happened?"

"Here, drink this first," Elizabeth said, placing a straw between his lips. "I know you have a lot of questions."

Obediently, Peter drank, sighing as the cool liquid soothed his throat. He let his head fall back against the pillows. "What happened, El?"

"The take down on your last case went...very wrong,' Elizabeth said. "I don't know all the details. I didn't ask. All I know is I got a call from Neal and he said you'd been beaten severely and shot in the side. Doctors told me you had a severe concussion and had you in a medically induced coma until yesterday."

"How long?"

"Almost two months."

Peter shook his head. He knew Elizabeth was telling the truth about his being in the hospital - in a coma - all that time but he vividly remembered the research facilitiy where he'd been held prisoner as he was studied. Remembered the tests that showed he was definitely normal...and human. Remembered Dr. Marcus and Alicia. Remembered destroying the facility before he escaped. "It was so real..." he whispered. He looked at Elizabeth, alarmed. "My magic...I didn't. Did I?"

"No hon, " elizabeth said. "Nothing unexplained happened. My guess is you were too deep in the coma."

"I'm safe," Peter said softly, relieved.

"No one knows except me, Neal and Moz,' Elizabeth said. "Just like it was." She grasped his hand tightly, careful of the IV tubing. "And when you come home, you'll have to tell me what seemed so real to you. Okay?"

"If I remember," Peter said. "I promise. He reached up, brushing a finger over her lips. "I promised I'd come home," he said.

"You always do, hon. You always do. Now rest. I'll be here."

Peter's eyes drifted closed and he slipped into sleep again, his hand clasped in Elizabeth's, reminding him of what was real...and what was dream.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's awake from his coma but is he all the way back?

"Ready to go home?" Elizabeth asked, depositing a bag on the hospital bed beside Peter.

"More than ready," Peter said. He upended the bag, emptying it on the bed, finding jeans, a T-shirt, socks and sneakers.

"You want help?" Elizabeth asked. "Or I could go get you discharged."

"The sooner I'm out of here, the better," Peter said. He gave her a soft smile, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. "I'll be fine, hon," he said. "I've got this."

With a nod, Elizabeth left and Peter stood, pulling off the hospital gown and replacing it with the jeans and T-shirt, wincing a little when the bullet scar pulled. He didn't remember getting shot or the beating that had resulted in him lying comatose for close to two months. He _did_ remember the alternate reality he'd lived while he was.

He definitely remembered the daily physical therapy sessions - frustrated, humiliated and cursing the frailty of his body even though it was the one thing that had convinced him he'd lain motionless in a bed for weeks and not been poked and prodded by a dispassionate doctor as she searched for the origin of his magic. As she treated him as nothing but a lab rat. Like he wasn't human.

He sat to pull on his socks but paused, the memory - false as it was - of how he'd escaped playing through his mind. Destroying the facility and twelve lives as a result. He remembered the aftermath of Corman's death at the near abandoned storage facility - a death he'd caused with his magic, how he'd lost that part through guilt. Objectively, he knew that was the only death he'd caused with his magic but he still felt the weight of those twelve - Alicia, Dr. Marcus, the techs and the guards. Almost hesitantly, he opened his hand, the gesture familiar, and fire danced in his palm. He snuffed the flames, hearing footsteps approach but it was only Elizabeth.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the somewhat troubled look on his face.

"I was just wondering," Peter said.

"What?"

"If I still have it," Peter said.

Elizabeth didn't ask what 'it' was. She knew he was referring to his magic. "And?"

"One thing at least," Peter said. "I'll need help to find out about the rest." He finished dressing and followed Elizabeth through the corridors, stopping at the hospital pharmacy to pick up a prescription of painkillers. He didn't speak again until they were in the car on the way home. "I heard you," he said quietly. "When I was..." He paused to look at her. "I heard you looking for me. I thought I was scrying in the bathroom of the cell I was in."

Elizabeth moved a hand from the wheel to take one of his. "You don't have to talk about it now," she said. She gave his hand a brief squeeze. "It was very real for you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was," Peter said. "I'm still having a little trouble believing it wasn't."

"It'll fade," Elizabeth said. "Just give it time."

Peter nodded even though he wasn't at all sure. The memories were just too vivid, the names and faces etched in his mind.

"Just as a warning," Elizabeth said as they pulled up to the house in Brooklyn. "Moz and Neal insisted on being here when you came home. And I told them not to get too...enthusiastic when they see you."

"Moz wouldn't anyway," Peter said, unable to stop the amusement from coloring his voice. His smile grew when Elizabeth's smile answered his. "Come on. I'm sure they're waiting."

They were barely inside before Neal had him enveloped in a hug, firm but gentle. "Don't you _ever_ do that to us again," he whispered.

"I'll try my best," Peter said, returning the hug. When Neal released him, he turned to Moz, seeing the little man looking more somber than he ever had.

"Suit," Moz said with a nod.

A whine distracted them and they watched as Satchmo come almost hesitantly to Peter. Tears stung his eyes as he sat though he understood the dog's reticence - this was the first time Satch had seen him since he and Neal had cornered their suspect. Well, since _he'd_ cornered him.

"I shouldn't have left you," Neal said as if hearing Peter's thought. "It's my fault."

"You didn't know," Peter said, seeing the guilt on the younger man's face. "It was a good plan."

"But..."

"No buts," Peter said. "Not your fault. I wasn't quick enough to stop him and neither of us knew he wasn't working alone."

While they talked, Satchmo pressed against Peter's legs, nosing his hand until he received the pets and skritches he was looking for.

"Neal, no one blames you," Elizabeth said. "So don't blame yourself. If you'd been with him, you could have ended up the same way. Or worse."

"She's right," Peter said. "I'm fine. Or I will be."

"And your magic?" Neal asked.

"Pretty sure I still have it," Peter said. "I'm a little out of practice after my two month nap though."

Neal rolled his eyes but Peter saw his mouth twitch in a smile. "Only you would descripe a coma as a nap," he said, releasing the tension he felt.

"Okay," Elizabeth said briskly. "I'm sure Peter is thoroughly fed up with hospital food so Moz, if you'd help me in the kitchen..."

"Neal knows his way around one better than I do," Moz said but followed her anyway.

"Not to worry Moz," Elizabeth said. "I've already taken care of the cooking."

"It's good to be home," Peter said as Neal sat beside him.

"You're sure you're okay?" Neal asked.

"I'm not at peak...yet...but I'm fine," Peter said. "I don't look like I've been half starved and I'm not as weak as the proverbial kitten anymore. Those PT sessions were brutal at first."

"Now you'll just have to deal with the boredom," Neal said. "They won't let you come back until you've been evaluated."

"Yeah, I know," Peter said as Satchmo abandoned him for his bed. "Been through it before."

"Yeah, the Novice case, your car accident..." Neal said. "I'll try to sneak some cold cases out for you."

"And we will help you get your magic back up to peak," Elizabeth said as she and Moz finished bringing out the food. "Call it...magic therapy."

Peter chuckled. "As good a name as any, I suppose," he said as they took seats.

"I can make the obstacle course available if you wish," Moz said. "Nothing too difficult at first. Let you work your way up."

"I appreciate that, Moz," Peter said. "Really."

 

As they ate the late lunch/early dinner, Neal brought Peter up to speed on what was happening at the office, what cases they were working on, what cases they'd closed and Elizabeth regaled them with stories about her lastest client. And Moz...Moz just listened, not even offering his latest conspiracy theory. Peter wondered about it but didn't comment though he could tell Moz was planning something. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what.

"I'll have the course ready in a week or so," Moz said as he and Neal left. "Just let me know when youre ready."

"I will," Peter said. "And thank you again."

"So tell me," Elizabeth said as they settled on the couch, her with a glass of wine and Peter with his first - and only - beer.

"I remember waking up in a cell," Peter said. "Not a prison cell though." He proceeded to tell her of Dr. Marcus, and Alicia, how they'd studied him, the tests - both blood and genetic - the MRIs, how he'd had to demonstrate his magic - at least what they knew about. The guards with orders to shoot if he tried to escape. How he _did_ escape by using magic they weren't aware he had. The destruction of the facility, how everyone inside had no chance of escape, being either trapped, frozen or floating. How he was sure the place had burned from his destruction of the research. "Twelve people, El," he said. "I left them to die and they were just doing their jobs."

"But you didn't," Elizabeth said gently.

"I know that," Peter said. "Intellectually anyway. But it's still real. I can still see their faces, hear their voices. They weren't _bad_ people - I've dealt with worse. And I can understand their curiosity. Lord knows I've wondered where my magic comes from since I found out I had it."

"Just for the sake of arguement, say it did happen, say you were locked up in a research lab," Elizabeth said. "How did it make you feel?"

"Like a prisoner," Peter said after a minute. "Like a freak...like I wasn't human."

"And what did they want?"

"To find out where my magic came from," Peter said. "That I understand. But they also wanted to know if they could give it to someone else. And all I could think of - besides getting out of there - was what if the wrong person got it?"

"What do you mean? The wrong person?"

"Someone who'd have no problem using it for their own ends, who'd have no problem killing someone just because they could. Someone who thought it would be no big deal."

"Someone would would consider themselves a god. Or at least godlike," Elizabeth said.

Peter nodded. "I was asked if I thought I was better than everyone else," he said. "And I don't."

"Because you're not," Elizabeth said.

It could have been an insult. It could have been disparaging but Peter knew Elizabeth didn't mean it that way. She was merely stating fact, one he agreed with. If he'd held the view that he was better than everyone else because of his magic, he wouldn't have felt so guilty over Corman's death, he woldn't have lost part of his magic because of it. He'd never intentionally hurt someone with it, not even Corman. Then, he'd reacted without thinking, his fear for Neal overriding everything else.

"So what happened after you got out?"

"Hot wired a car and drove until I found a phone," Peter said. "A gas station practically in the middle of nowhere. There was that, a store, a few houses and a diner. Told the gas station owner I was lost and needed to call home. He gave me twenty bucks to get something to eat while I waited for Jones to come get me." He squeezed her hand. "I wasn't the least bit surprised that you came along."

"After what? Three months? There was no way I'd stay behind and wait," Elizabeth said.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Peter said, a smile touching his mouth.

Elizabeth reached up and cupped his face, seeing the faintly disturbed, faintly uncertain expression he wore. "It wasn't real, hon," she said softly. "You weren't held against your will, studied like some exotic specimen. You hurt no one."

"I know," Peter said. "I just need time to process."

Though it was early, Peter was tired. He wasn't yet ready for the late nights, wasn't ready to pick up his life, his routine where he'd left it and let Elizabeth help him upstairs and ready for bed. She stayed with him until he fell asleep, sensing he needed her to help him stay grounded to this reality instead of the false one he'd lived in his head for two months.

 

Until Peter could get cleared to return to duty, Neal, Moz and Elizabeth kept him busy, kept him occupied with cold cases Neal brought from the office and all three testing his magic at odd moments - someone tossing something at him to freeze, Elizabeth pushing him into a dark closet with instructions to find something specific. But he was really tested when Neal and Moz took him to the safehouse turned obstacle course, Moz promising he'd have to use every one of his abilities except for the shape change. As endlessly inventive as the old con was, even with Neal's help he couldn't devise a test that would require it.

"Can you still transfer it?" Neal asked as they stood outside.

"Let's see," Peter said, placing a hand on Neal's shoulder. It took a second or two but he saw the expected tremor pass through his partner. "Try it."

"Which one?"

"Any of them," Peter said.

A ball of flame filled Neal's hand and he tossed it in the air, freezing it before it fell. With a somewhat sly look at Peter, he made it disappear.

"Show off," Peter said, amused, then brought it back and snuffed it out. Before they went inside, he turned serious. "I need to ask you not to help me in there," he said. "I need to know I'm back. All the way back."

Neal nodded. "The course is yours," he said.

As promised, Peter had to use all of his abilities as he made his way from room to room, from freezing projectiles, to lifting obstacles to clear the path, to 'fixing' minor (and not so minor) cuts and bruises, to blasting through walls. By the time he finished, he was tired, a little shaky...and laughing.

"Suit?" Moz asked, sounding concerned.

Peter caught his breath, wiping his eyes. "I have to say, you delivered on your promise," he said. "And I can't remember when I had so much _fun_."

"Only one left to try but I think that's best done at home," Neal said, relaxing.

Peter nodded. "And Moz, thank you."

"If you wish to go again," Moz said. "With a companion perhaps..."

"I'll let you know."

 

"How'd it go?" Elizabeth asked when they returned to Brooklyn. She saw Peter's pleased, somewhat elated expression. "Never mind. I can see it went well."

"I thought he'd lost his mind, he was so...giddy," Moz said, accepting the glass of wine Elizabeth handed him.

"So you had fun," Elizabeth said to Peter.

"I had a great time," Peter said, smiling. He stood. "Only one left," he said. "I'll be back in a few minnutes."

When Peter was out of earshot, Neal said, "I know something's still on his mind. Any idea what?"

Elizabeth glanced at the stairs before she said, "It's what he...dreamed while still in the coma. Some...alternate reality. It's still a little real to him." Before she could elaborate, Monica came downstairs, wrapped in Peter's robe, looking somewhat uncertainly at Neal.

"Good memory," Neal said.

"I wasn't sure..." Monica said.

"It's fine," Neal said with a reassuring smile.

"I mean, I could be Patty. Or Denise," Monica offered.

"Not a problem," Neal said. "Now we know you're all the way back."

"Seems that way," Monica said. "Now all that's left is the Bureau evaluation. And yes, I'm aware I'll have to talk to the shrink."

"He thought was was in an alternate reality?" Moz asked when Monica returned upstairs. "What kind?"

"The worst kind. For him," Elizabeth said.

Moz got it first, which didn't surprise the others. "He was experimented on," he said.

"More he was the subject of the experiments," Elizabeth said. "Blood tests, genetic tests..."

"And in this reality, did they find anything?" Moz asked.

"No, they didn't," Peter said, coming downstairs. "Everything came back normal. Human."

"Of course you're human, hon," Elizabeth said, settling next to him when he sat. "Never doubted it for a second."

"I did," Peter admitted. "Maybe not _here_..."

"So how'd you get out?"

"Destroyed the facility," Peter said. "They didn't know everything."

"What did they know about?" Neal asked.

"Just the invisibility, the fire and the lights," Peter said. He clasped his hands, clenching them for a second, knowing they were curious. "I escaped by freezing the guard and Alicia - the head researcher - then destroying the generator. Since it was underground - literally and, I'd bet figuratively - no one else could see a damned thing. I found the research records and burned them, using the file cabinets to trap Dr. Marcus in his office. After that, I destroyed the MRI and left the remaining guards floating. Once I was out, I blocked the door with a truck." His hands clenched again. "Twelve people," he said and let out a sigh. "I know it wasn't real," he said. "But..."

"But it felt like it," Neal said.

"As real as this does now," Peter said. "I remember how relieved I felt when Jones and El came to get me, telling all of you the same story I just told you. Going to bed then...waking up in the hospital and learning I'd been in a coma." He regarded Neal a moment. "Did you catch the guys who did it?"

"Not yet," Neal said. "But the team is on the lookout, following leads when we get them."

"I have people looking as well, Suit," Moz said. "You know I can get information the Bureau can't."

"And in ways they can't," Peter said, understanding.

"As long as you don't ask questions," Moz said.

Peter couldn't help the twitch of a smile. He'd learned long since not to ask Moz - and to some extent, Neal - where he got his information, partly because he knew Moz wouldn't tell him, partly because he really didn't want to know.

 

Later that evening, after Neal had returned to June's and Moz on some errand he didn't discuss, Peter opened his laptop as Elizabeth settled at the dining room table with her own. Even though it had been over two months since he'd woken in the hospital, the names and faces were still vivid and his curiosity finally got the better of him. After a slight hesitation, he typed a name into the search engine - Dr. Alicia Thomas. He received more results than he expected so he refined the search with what he "remembered" she'd told him, namely a graduate of MIT, specializing in genetics , involved in Parkinson's research. One result. He let out a breath and clasped his hands, not entirely sure if he wanted to know.

Unbeknownst to him, Elizabeth watched him silently, curious but not asking, watching as he almost hesitantly tapped on his keyboard, saw his expression of mixed relief and confusion. She didn't know that he'd found what he was looking for...sort of. Didn't know that the photo on the screen didn't show a dark haired, dark eyed woman with glasses in her mid thirties and instead showed an older black woman, hair cropped close and...portly. "Hon...?"

Peter looked up at the question, seeing Elizabeth's slightly worried expression. "She's real but..." He let out a breath that held a laugh. "Dr. Thomas," he said. "She's real but nothing like I remember."

"Dr. Thomas...she's the one who ran all those tests, right?" Elizabeth asked, turning to face him.

Peter nodded. "I remember a woman in her thirties, dark hair and eyes, glasses." He turned the laptop so Elizabeth could see. "Not in her fifties, black and a bit heavyset."

"And the other stuff?"

"The main facts are true," Peter said. "Which brings up the question - how did I know even that much?"

Elizabeth frowned a little. "Didn't we meet a Dr. Thomas at that charity auction last year?" she asked.

"You mean the one I really didn't want to go to but you talked me into anyway?" Peter asked.

"Only because I wanted the most handsome man _ever_ on my arm," Elizabeth said, mouth quirked in a smile. "And I _did_..."

Peter returned her smile. "I know not to argue with you about that so I won't," he said. "But yeah, I seem to remember a Dr. Thomas at that event. Can't remember what we talked about though. Probably the usual small talk."

Elizabeth was silent for a few minutes then asked, " How would you feel about contacting her?"

"Peter's brows rose. "There's no need," he said.

"You're not curious to find out if your magic is genetic?"

"That wouldn't explain why I'm the only one in the family that has it," Peter said. "I was eleven when I found out I had the lights. Kids see more than adults realize. My parents didn't show any sign. Neither did my sister. And my sister loved to show off, especially with me."

"Blood tests?"

"I've lost count of how many blood tests I've had," Peter said. "Not one doctor ever mentioned anything unusual."

"Your parents didn't know? Your sister?"

"They never said anything," Peter said.

"So, in effect, it came out of nowhere," Elizabeth said.

"Looks that way," Peter said. He closed the search and shut down his laptop. "I don't know where it came from and honestly, I'm not that curious anymore. I know when to stop looking for answers and just acept what is."

"You usually don't," Elizabeth said with an amused smirk. "You're stubborn, hon. It's part of what makes you so good at your job. You keep digging until you find the answer or get your man."

"This is different," Peter said. "If I actually have genetic tests done and something...odd shows up, there's going to be questions. They're going to want answers. Answers I can't give them unless I want to live that nightmare for real."

"What if you get tested anonymously?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter let out a breath. "I know you mean well, hon, but I can live without that answer," he said. "It doesn't bother me not knowing. It's just part of who I am."

 

Two weeks later, Peter stepped onto the twenty first floor for the first time in weeks to a standing ovation. "What's this?" he asked, eyes a little wide. He shot a look at Neal, who shrugged.

"Not my idea," Neal said.

"Thank you, everyone," Peter said to the assembled agents, probies and interns. "I appreciate this but I just want to get back to work, so..." He made shooing motions and headed up to his office as the rest went back to their desks.

"It's good to have you back," Neal said, settling into his accustomed seat. "It was kinda boring around here without you."

"It's good to _be_ back," Peter said. He let out a breath and turned to the stack of casefiles on his desk. "Let's see what we have, shall we?"


	31. Chapter Thirty One: Timestamp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Peter's out of the hospital but before he returns to White Collar.

Moz found them a few weeks after Peter's release from the hospital. The ones who'd put the agent into a coma. Three men he'd done business with, three men he knew. Like most criminals who'd almost gotten the cuffs slapped on, they'd gone to ground - smart, considering their victim was an FBI agent. A Fed.

He found them in a rundown apartment near the motel Neal had stayed in for precisely one day after Peter had gotten him out of prison. Without even a courtesy knock, Moz let himself in, setting a bottle on the table.

"Moz. What brings you here?"

"Dennis," Moz said. "Where's Benito and Douglas?" As soon as he asked the question, two other men emerged from the back room.

"What do you want Moz?" Benito, a slighly heavyset Hispanic man in his thirties, asked.

"What the hell were you thinking? Shooting a Fed and beating him unconscious?" Moz nearly hissed.

"Why do you care?" Dennis asked. His colorless blue eyes looked dispassionately at the smaller man. "You hate Feds."

"This one's different," Moz said.

"He's a _Fed_. They're all the same," Dennis said.

Words crowded on Moz's tongue and he itched to tell the three just how different Peter Burke was to the typical Fed. But he didn't. He wouldn't. He'd given his word and he didn't break it lightly. "He's different because he's the one who caught Neal Caffrey," he said instead. "If nothing else, he deserves respect for that. Instead, you beat him into a coma. Over what? A few trinkets you can't unload."

"Perhaps you...?" Douglas asked, speaking for the first time.

Moz looked at the young man - a kid really - with contempt. "Don't even think it," he said. "None of you."

"But Moz..." Benito started.

"No," Moz said, glowering. "I wouldn't touch it for the full take. I don't do business with common thugs."

Dennis crossed his arms. "You say this Fed is in a coma," he said. "Well then, we got no worries."

"He _was_ in a coma," Moz said. "He's awake and back home...and he's not the only one looking for you. And since your'e not nearly as smart and clever as Neal, it won't take him long to find you."

Dennis studied him for a few minutes, absently playing with the bottle of rotgut Moz had brought. "Who's this Fed to you?"

"A worthy adversary," Moz said. "Someone who's earned Neal's trust and loyalty." My friend, he didn't say.

"So what do you want us to do?" Douglas asked.

Moz gestured at the bottle. "Have a drink and reflect on your stupidity," he said, turning to leave. "Maybe think twice before going after a Fed." As he walked down the hall, he faintly heard three bodies slump to the floor in the apartment he'd just left but didn't hesitate, didn't falter as he left the building, only vaguely curious about when they'd be found, not caring if they were or not.

He climbed into his cab, putting the three men out of mind. Instead, he looked forward to a wonderful meal - and even better wine - expertly cooked by Elizabeth, in the company of his best friends. As for the three, no one would suspect him and he wouldn't tell. He was, after all, very good at keeping secrets.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal get a case that could prove very dangerous for Peter... and change their friendship.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: some descriptions of explicit sexual acts.
> 
> Head's up: this chapter will end in something of a cliffhanger....

"I think you're going to like this one," Peter said as Neal sat across from him.

"What have we got?" Neal asked interestedly. "Forgery? Art heist? Jewel heist?"

"Designer drugs," Peter said, handing his partner the file.

Neal made a face but looked through the case details. "You know I don't like drugs," he said. "What do these drugs do besides make you stupid?"

"Evidently they make you...amorous," Peter said. "Uncontrollably amorous. With the first person you see after you take it."

"And I assume there are those taking advantage of those in that condition," Neal said. "A new date rape drug?"

"It's been used for that on some occasions," Peter said. "It's our case because it's also being used to rip people off. Cash taken, credit and debit cards taken, jewelry, anything of value."

"Those affected are that...involved?" Neal asked.

"To the exclusion of all else," Peter said.

"And where is it being used?"

"Clubs mostly," Peter said. "And not all upscale. There have been reports from hole in the wall bars to places like Giselle's."

"So what are we looking for?" Neal asked. "I assume we're going under."

"We aren't," Peter said. "You...and Monica." He regarded his partner a moment. "You okay with that?" He was concerned because Neal had confessed his feelings for his alter ego after the case at Giselle's, feelings that were anything but familial or friendly. He was reassured when Neal appeared to think it over. Neal knew the risks for both of them - that Peter could get "lost" and he could fall harder for Monica even though he knew the woman was just a construct.

Finally, Neal took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay with it," he said. "As long as you are...and Elizabeth."

"Yeah, she needs to know," Peter said. "Not looking forward to that conversation though. Not after what happened with Patty."

"I'll admit I was scared," Neal said.

"When did you know?" Peter asked curiously. "That I"d gotten...lost?"

"When you called me Nick," Neal said. "And it stopped being an act for you."

"But we didn't...?"

"No. No, you came back before it went that far," Neal said.

Peter nodded. "With this we'll have to be extra careful," he said. "We're pretty sure it's ingested but it's doubtful it's in pill form. Most likely it's drinks that are being dosed."

"Odorless, tasteless?"

"No one reported anything like that," Peter said. "Nothing wrong until the effects hit them then..." He shrugged.

"Then they really didn't care," Neal finished.

"That's it in a nutshell," Peter said.

"All right, when are we doing this?" Neal asked. "And where?"

"We think it started at Lamar's since that's where most of the initial reports came from," Peter said. "From there, it spread to other bars and clubs all over the southern half of the island."

"Nothing outside the city?"

"Not yet," Peter said. "We need to stop it before it does."

 

The nest few weeks were spent going over security footage from the clubs and the few bars that had it, looking for faces that showed up at each establishment where the drug - named Obsession ("How original," Neal remarked dryly) - was known to have been used. The job wasn't made any easier as more footage was delivered to the White Collar offices on an almost daily basis. Finally, they managed to narrow down what club was hit the most often and picked out a group of four - two men and two women - that had been present each time, either together or separately.

Peter had the talk with Elizabeth and, as he'd expected, she wasn't happy about it.

"You _promised_ , Peter," Elizabeth said, brows furrowed in a frown. "After what happened with Patty, you promised. No more women."

"Unless I had to," Peter reminded her.

They were sitting in bed, Peter thinking - perhaps naively - that she'd be more amenable to the idea if they were somewhat intimate.

"And do you have to?" Elizabeth asked, arms crossed and resisting his efforts to pull her close.

Peter sighed. "Strictly speaking, no," he said. "But I can't, in good conscience, ask another agent to take the risk. Neal will be with me the whole time. He knows what to look for and he'll bring me back if things start to go wrong. You know he will. He's done it before."

Elizabeth gave him a look that bordered on a glare. "Just so you know, that's the _only_ reason I'm agreeing to this," she said.

"I'll be careful, hon. I promise," Peter said.

"You'd better be," Elizabeth said.

And, fairly or not, she tasked Neal with making damn sure she got her husband back after the case was closed when she spoke to him, threatening retribution if he failed.

 

When they felt they were as ready as they'd ever be, Peter changed into Monica and got ready for Neal to pick her up. Elizabeth helped her get ready though she was still obviously not happy with the situation but she didn't hesitate to wish him luck - and a speedy resolution to the case. And she couldn't help but be amused by the fact that Monica - Peter - was more comfortable wearing heels than she had been the first time.

As usual, Monica was gorgeous. Elizabeth had helped her pick out her outfit of thigh length emerald green skirt, white short sleeved silk blouse and black four inch heels. Her short black hair was artfully messy and her makeup was flawless, eyeliner bringing out the deep blue of her eyes. As a last touch, Elizabeth clasped a simple emerald pendant around her neck.

"I promise I'll be careful, hon," Monica said, seeing the worry in Elizabeth's eyes despite the brave face.

"I know you will," Elizabeth said. "You always are." She let out a breath just as a knock sounded on the front door downstairs. "Come on, your date's here," she said, unable to stop the amused smile.

When Monica opened the door, she saw Neal's jaw tighten for a split second before he relaxed. "You still okay with this?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be okay with having a stunning woman on my arm?" Neal asked with an easy smile. "No offense to you, Elizabeth," he added.

"None taken, Neal," Elizabeth said. "Take care of him. Bring him home."

"I will," Neal said. He held out an elbow to Monica. "Shall we?"

 

A short time later, they pulled up in front of Lamar's - since it still seemed to be the most often hit - and Neal handed the keys to the valet before escorting Monica inside. As with Giselle's, the music was loud but not so loud they couldn't hear themselves think and they made their way to an empty booth, both keeping their eye out for their suspects. But with the crowd present in the club, they knew it would be difficult at best.

 

They were a few drinks in when they noticed something...off, a few minutes after they ID'd one of their suspects. It started when Monica lazily ran a hand up Neal's arm and saw the spark of heat in his eyes, the slight dilation of his pupils. "What say we go somewhere more private?" she asked in a low sensuous voice, fingers tangled lightly in his hair.

In answer, Neal pulled her closer, sealing his mouth over hers, moaning softly when he felt his response. "Yeah, it's a bit crowded in here," he said. "My place?"

"Is it close?" Monica asked. "Because if it's not, I just might do you right here."

"Close enough," Neal said. "Let's go." He pulled her out of the booth, barely remembering to drop a tip on the table before practically dragging her out of the club.

Somehow, they made it to June's and up to the loft without jumping each other but that lasted only until the door closed behind them. Then, it was making their way blindly to the bed as they shed their clothes, hands and mouths roaming over skin as it was revealed.

Monica's legs hit the bed and she fell, taking Neal with her, her hands pushing his slacks down, groaning with need when she felt his erection slide against her hip. "Please," she panted. "Now."

Neal's hand plunged between her legs, feeling her wetness and slipped two fingers inside, making her arch as he plundered her mouth. He swore softly when she wrapped a hand around him and began stroking. He disengaged, kicking his pants and briefs off and stripped off her panties, tossing them aside before burying his face in her slick wetness, his tongue thrusting into her, lapping over her clit as he somehow ignored his own arousal which seemed to ratchet up with each tug she gave his hair. Suddenly she shuddered, her thighs clamping around his head and he tasted a different wetness.

Unable to ignore his own need any longer, he slid up her body and sank into her, both voicing a low moan, filled with heat. He held still, knowing he was on a hair trigger but when Monica grabbed his ass and bit his ear, there was no helping it. He began thrusting almost roughly, some distant part of him worried if he was being _too_ rough...but the pleased sounds coming from Monica put that concern to rest. Minutes later, their climaxes ripped through them. Instead of being embarrassed, Neal found he was ready to go again almost immediately. Monica noticed as well and with a wicked, come hither look, rolled him over and proceeded to give him the ride of his life..

 

Neal blinked in the early morning light and groaned as a sharp pain lanced through his skull. "Jesus," he breathed, wondering what the hell had happened. Movement beside him brought his attention to the dark haired woman asleep beside him, her make up a mess, her hair spiky with dried sweat...and completely naked. As was he. Hastily, he jumped out of bed, located his briefs, pulling them on before finding a robe, cinching it tightly around his waist as the details came back. He and Peter...Monica...at the club, looking for their suspects in a designer drug case then feeling the beginnings of arousal. Everything after they'd left the club was a blur. All he could really remember clearly was arriving at the loft. Vague impressions of tasting salty wetness, the feel of heat as it surrounded him, small but strong fingers digging into his back, orgasms ripping through him with enough force to leave him completely breathless.

He glanced back at the bed, seeing Monica looking completely debauched, sleeping the sleep of the totally fucked out, her breasts rising and falling gently as she breathed. Somewhat to his horror, Neal felt himself start to respond. Then the guilt hit. He'd had sex - apparently wild, unrestrained sex - with his partner. His _married_ partner. How was he going to explain this to Elizabeth? Elizabeth who'd trusted him to look after her husband, to make sure he came back?

As if his thoughts conjured her, his phone rang. It was Elizabeth. He grabbed it and stepped out onto the terrace, unwilling to chance having to face Monica at the moment. "Elizabeth," he answered, his voice remarkably steady, given the circumstances.

"Is Peter with you?" Elizabeth asked. "He didn't come home last night."

Neal thought quickly. He owed her the truth but wasn't sure what to tell her. "He's with me," he said then felt compelled to add, "Sort of."

There was silence on the other end and Neal closed his eyes, waiting for her to give him the berating he definitely deserved. "Sort of?" Elizabeth questioned. "Explain." Then she corrected herself. "No, don't. Not yet. Just get over here, both of you."

"Elizabeth..."

"No, not over the phone," Elizabeth said then disconnected.

Neal sighed and went back inside. Quickly getting dressed, he located Monica's clothes and, with some trepidation, woke her up, studiously keeping his gaze averted. It took a few tries and some grumbling but Monica finally woke enough to get dressed.

"You got any aspirin?' Monica asked, still a bit groggy. "My head is killing me." She looked around, somewhat confused. "What the hell happened?"

"What do you remember?" Neal asked, handing her a couple aspirin and a glass of water.

"Going to the club," Monica said. "Having a few drinks..." She paused then shrugged. "Not much after that."

"We were drugged," Neal said. "Something designer. Meant to cause exactly what happened."

"And what did happen?" Monica asked.

"I'll tell you when I get you home," Neal said. "Now come on. Elizabeth's waiting."

 

Elizabeth was waiting, somewhat impatiently, when they got to Brooklyn but it changed to confusion - with a touch of fear - when she saw Monica, not Peter, come through the door with Neal. "Neal..." But she noticed Monica was still somewhat out of it, looking half dead on her feet. "Come on, let's get you upstairs," she said, guiding Monica up to the bedroom. After seeing her settled in and asleep, she returned downstairs, finding Neal standing by the door, unable to look at her. "Coffee?" she asked, heading to the kitchen. "You look like you could use it."

"I could use a complete do-over for the last twenty four hours," Neal said, settling on a stool at the kitchen island.

"So, tell me," Elizabeth said, setting a mug of coffee in front of him then taking another stool with her own mug. She watched, a little fascinated, as a blush stained Neal's face.

"God Elizabeth, I am so sorry," Neal said. "I never meant..."

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" Elizabeth suggested.

So Neal did, starting from their arrival at the club, watching for their suspects...then feeling the wave of desire and arousal when he looked at Monica. When he recounted what he remembered of what happened in the loft. the blush deepened, the guilt increased and he couldn't bring himself to look at her, afraid of what he'd see - disappointment, anger, disgust, betrayal. When he finished, he chanced a look at her, finding her expression thoughtful. "Elizabeth?"

"I can't say I'm happy about what happened," Elizabeth said evenly. "And I know I should be furious - with both of you - but, under the circumstances, I don't think that would be fair."

"I should have been more careful," Neal said. "I promised you, Elizabeth. I promised I'd look out for him, make sure..." He swallowed. "And I didn't. I failed and I'm so, so sorry."

"This drug," Elizabeth said. "What exactly does it do? And why is it out there?"

"It generates overwhelming arousal," Neal said. "Uncontrollable arousal and our suspects are using it to rob people. They get away with it since the parties affected don't - can't - pay attention to anything else."

"And you and Peter got dosed," Elizabeth said.

"And I don't know _how_ ," Neal said. "No one got close enough to slip anything into our drinks."

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment as she sipped her coffee, thinking. "There were servers?" she asked.

"Three or four," Neal said. "But none were our suspects. We managed to isolate a team of two men and two women and we saw one of the women at the club right before...well, before." He groaned softly, managing to sound completely mortified and guilty, and covered his face.

"Neal...sweety," Elizabeth said, pulling his hands down. "Look at me." She waited until he dragged his gaze up to meet hers. "I'm not mad," she said. "Now that I know more, I can't be. From what you told me, it's not like you had a choice. Someone drugged you without your consent and you couldn't control your response. Hardly surprising, really. If it hadn't been for this drug, I know you'd never have had sex with my husband."

"Of course not," Neal said. "I'd never do that to you. Either of you."

"And I know that," Elizabeth said. "And I know Peter would never cheat on me. I still remember that Black Widow case. I'd never seen him look so guilty...and he just kissed her."

"So what do we so?" Neal asked.

"We work through it," Elizabeth said. "Just like we do everything else. Starting with talking to Peter when he wakes up."

"And that brings up the question of why it was Monica I woke up next to," Neal said. "Peter told me that he didn't think he could hold on to an...alternate persona if he was asleep. But he obviously did."

"I couldn't even guess," Elizabeth said. "I don't know as much about his magic as he does."

"And it also brings up the possibility that he might not..." Neal said quietly, reluctantly. "That he got too deep."

Elizabeth's hands tightened briefly around her mug. "While that's true, I refuse to believe it. I know him. He's too secure in himself to forget who he is. He might for a while but not permanently."

 

Knowing Peter might not be himself for a while yet, Elizabeth called him in sick to the office, saying she hoped it was just a short lived bug then cajoled Neal into keeping her company despite his obvious reluctance to face his partner.

"Neal, you're both going to have to come to terms with this," Elizabeth said. "We all are. If you don't, if _we_ don't, it'll affect the work, our friendship, yours and Peter's. You know it will." She regarded him while she poured them each a glass of wine, despite the early hour. "You can't keep Monica and Peter separate?" she asked.

"I can try," Neal said. "I could before - I _did_ before - but now..." He sighed. "It might take a while," he said. "The question is, can Peter? Can _Peter_ think of Monica as someone separate?"

"I guess we'll find out," Elizabeth said. Now that the shock had worn off somewhat, the humor of the situation became apparent and she couldn't resist teasing him a little. "So, how was it?" she asked.

"How was what?"

"The sex," Elizabeth said, her eyes crinkling a little in amusement as she peered at him over the rim of her glass. "Was she an animal? Was she vanilla? Kinky?"

"Elizabeth..." Neal groaned, a little embarrassed by the wave of arousal that washed over him and very grateful the table concealed it. "I never took you for a voyeur, even by proxy."

"Hey, he's my husband," Elizabeth said. "I think I have a right to know."

"It was...athletic," Neal said after a moment, recalling how Monica had given as good as she'd gotten. "But not kinky. Or vanilla really. Honestly, I don't remember too many details, just this...need for sex. Lots of sex." He paused for a minute. "it's still there, a little," he said. "But I have a handle on it."

"So no idea how long it'll last?" Elizabeth asked.

:None," Neal said. "Hopefully not too long or we're going to have a real problem."

"And this...need for sex? Is it with Monica or just a need?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal didn't answer immediately as he searched his feelings. While he'd always thought Elizabeth was an attractive woman - and she was - the pull to have sex (subdued now) was with the woman lying asleep upstairs. It was Monica he wanted. "From my very limited experience, it seems to focus on one person," he said. "And for me, that's Monica."

 

It was nearing lunchtime when they heard movement upstairs and a voice call, "El?" It was Peter's. Shortly after, he emerged at the top of the stairs, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

"In the kitchen, hon," Elizabeth called back. When he entered, she greeted him with a kiss and a mug of coffee.

"Peter," Neal said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone put an icepick through my head," Peter said with a slight grimace.

"Aspirin?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter waved her off. "I'm fine," he said. "Doesn't hurt as much as it did when I first woke up."

"And how much do you remember?" Neal asked, sounding wary.

Peter slid onto a stool, sipping his coffee. "Not much at the moment," he said. "And what I do remember is a little muddled."

"And what's that?" Neal asked.

Peter's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "We were at the club and had just spotted one of our suspects," he said. "After that..." He blanched a little. "Did we...?" he asked, eyes wide.

"You did, hon," Elizabeth said. "And it's okay. Neal explained."

"Oh God," Peter said, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm sorry." He sounded mortified.

"Not your fault," Elizabeth said.

"But..."

As she had with Neal, Elizabeth pulled his hands down so he would look at her. "Hon, it's okay," she said.

"But I...I _cheated_ on you," Peter said, his expression almost painfully apologetic, sounding more than a little miserable. "With _Neal_..."

"You could have gone with worse," Elizabeth said. "And technically, it was Monica who slept with him, not you."

"But _I'm_ Monica," Peter said.

"At the time, no, you weren't," Neal said. "I mean, it was just Monica. You kinda...got lost for a while."

"Which probably explains why you didn't wake up with Peter in your bed," Elizabeth said. Seeing Peter's obvious upset, she rounded the island and pulled him to her arms, rubbing his back comfortingly. "You couldn't help yourself," she said softly. "It was the drug so you can't blame yourself, either of you." She pulled back a little. "We'll get through this hon," she said. "And don't feel guilty, okay? There's no reason to."

Peter searched her face but saw nothing but acceptance...and more than a little amusement. He shifted his gaze to Neal and saw a little embarrassment but no sign that he was freaking out. Of course, he didn't remember that his partner already had after finding Monica in his bed.

"If it makes you feel any better, the sex was fantastic," Neal said, unsuccessfully hiding a grin and making Elizabeth laugh.

"Of course you'd think so, you conceited little..." Peter started, mock irritated.

"No, not me," Neal said. "Monica was very....confident in what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it." He shrugged, a smile playing about his mouth. "Best sex I ever had," he said.

Peter couldn't quite quash the smug look even as he said, "Add this to the list of things you're forbidden to tease me about."

"I'd never tease about great sex," Neal said.

"So, any idea how we got dosed?" Peter asked, retreating into 'Agent Burke', probably as something of a coping mechanism.

"One, maybe," Neal said. "I'm thinking the servers are involved somehow. It was Elizabeth that gave me the idea."

"You think the servers are in on it?"

"Unintentionally, perhaps," Neal said. "But I'd almost bet that if we went over the security footage again, we'll find our suspects were in close proximity. They slip the drug into the drinks and let the servers deliver it."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "We'll get last night's video from Lamar's and have a look," he said. "Do you remember what ours looked like?"

"Fortunately, yes," Neal said.

"Then we'll bring her in for questioning, see what she can tell us," Peter said. He was silent for a minute or so, his mind obviously on something else. "You said I got lost?" he asked. "How did you bring me back?"

"I didn't, not really," Neal said. "After I brought you home, you were still somewhat out of it so Elizabeth put you to bed to sleep it off." He sipped his wine as he studied his partner. "You told me during that case with the escorts that you didn't think you could hold a persona when you were asleep..."

"Probably because I need some measure of concentration," Peter said.

"So my guess is you came back while you were asleep upstairs when the drug left your system and the core Peter Burke resurfaced," Neal said.

"But why did it take so long?' Peter wanted to know. "I'm assuming I didn't get any more than you did."

"Again, I'm just guessing," Neal said. "But Monica is small, petite. The same dose would affect her longer than it would someone of, say, Elizabeth's size."

"Like alcohol," Peter said. "Body mass would have an effect on how long it lasted."

"Something like that," Neal said.

"Are you feeling any...after effects?" Elizabeth asked, setting a sandwich - thankfully not deviled ham - in front of him.

"What kind of after effects?" Peter asked.

"It's gone now," Neal said. "But for a few hours I felt the...pull to have sex." he said. "Not nearly as strong as it was in the beginning though." He saw Peter's eyes flick to Elizabeth and shook his head. "I'd never do that," he said. "You know I wouldn't. It was specifically for Monica."

"If you're wondering if I still want to have sex with you then the answer is no," Peter said. "Either because I'm not Monica any more or the drug is out of my system."

"In case you're wondering, when you're a woman, the transformation is total," Neal said.

"Yeah, I knew that," Peter said, looking a little confused.

"No, I mean it's a _complete_ transformation," Neal said. "As in, you have...all the parts." He couldn't resist trading a grin with Elizabeth when his meaning registered.

"So my...physical responses were like woman's?" Peter asked almost hesitantly but obviously curious.

"I couldn't tell the difference," Neal said, nodding his thanks when Elizabeth put a plate in front of him.

"I guess the most important question is, will this make things difficult for you?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal and Peter exchanged a look. "I think I can still keep you and Monica separate," Neal said. "Of course, it would have been more difficult if there hadn't been a delay in you changing back." He regarded his partner curiously. "You?"

"I can if you can," Peter said. "Even though I don't remember much right now, what I do remember feels like it happened to someone else."

"If you think about it, it did," Elizabeth said.

"And you, hon?" Peter asked. "Are _you_ okay?"

"At first I wasn't," Elizabeth said, taking a seat. "But Neal explained what this drug does, that it...supercharges the sex drive, that it creates a compulsion to have sex. It's a true aphrodisiac, I guess. And given the situation...and the attraction I know Neal and Monica felt for each other, it's not surprising sex happened."

"Well, I'll admit that if it had to happen, I'm glad it was with someone I trusted," Peter said.

"I appreciate that Peter," Neal said. "Really."

Peter gave him a nod and a soft smile then asked, "So how is my absence at the office being explained?"

"You're down with a bug," Elizabeth said. "And Neal offered to look after you since I have an important event that I have to attend."

"And how long will this bug last?" Peter asked.

"You should be fine to go in tomorrow," Elizabeth said.

"Probably for the best," Peter said. "Just to make sure."

"What? No objections to playing hooky?" Neal teased.

"Since I evidently had mind blowing sex last night, I think it's only smart to take time to recover," Peter said dryly.

"I didn't say mind blowing, I said fantastic," Neal said, smirking a little.

Elizabeth breathed a silent sigh of relief at hearing their friendly sniping, knowing it meant they'd be fine.

 

TBC


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal wrap up the designer drug case and find their equilibrium with each other.

The next day was spent reviewing the security tapes, paying particular attention to what their suspects did. Peter kept the tape from Lamar's for himself and Neal, not wanting to cause his partner any embarrassment since they'd mutually agreed that the fact they'd been dosed would remain between them and Elizabeth.

"Okay, there we are," Neal said, looking over Peter's shoulder as the tape played. They watched as their server brought one drink then two with nothing unusual apparent. It was on the third that they saw one of the women sidle up next to her, wait until she was distracted...

"Wait, run that back," Neal said.

"You see something?" Peter asked.

"I think so," Neal said. "Not sure." He waited until Peter rewound the tape then asked him to play it at half speed. "There," he said, pointing to a man on the other side of the server. "Slow it down just a bit. See? He distracts her while she doses the drinks. There, that vial." He pointed to the female suspect as she tipped something into each drink.

They watched as the server delivered their drinks then a few minutes later, Monica ran her hand up Neal's arm, giving him a look that screamed sex and Neal's answering look.

"I think we both know what happens next," Peter said, shutting off the playback.

"I'm pretty sure all we did was kiss," Neal said. "At least until we got to the loft." He regarded his partner as he sat in the visitor's chair. "How much do you remember?" he asked.

"Pretty much everything now," Peter said. "Some things are still a bit fuzzy though. You?"

"Same here," Neal said. "And I stand by what I said yesterday."

"What?"

"The sex was fantastic," Neal said, giving his partner an impish look.

"I've never heard El complain," Peter said mildly, making Neal chuckle. Peter let out a breath. "So, we know where and how, now we need to find out who," he said.

"And ideally where they're getting it from," Neal said. "You want me to ask Moz to see if he can dig anything up?"

Peter barely hesitated. He knew Moz's contacts covered almost the entire city and he could talk to people who were under or not even on the Bureau's radar. "Whatever he can find would probably help," he said.

After printing out stills of the two suspects' faces, Peter directed his team to enlist NYPD to hand them out to every club likely to be hit. Normally, the police and the Bureau didn't work a case jointly but they agreed to assist since it was their department being inundated with reports of stolen property and the occasional report of nonconsensual sex.

 

When Neal got back to the loft at the end of the day, he wasn't surprised to find Moz waiting for him, an open bottle of wine on the table and a full glass in his hand. From the bottle's remaining contents, Neal knew he hadn't been there long.

"So, designer drugs, huh?" Moz asked as Neal poured himself a glass.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know," Neal said, shedding his jacket and taking a seat. "But yeah, designer drugs."

"What's it do? And who's doing what with it?"

"It causes a compulsion to have sex," Neal said. "Lots of sex. It's being used to rob people. Credit and debit cards, cash, jewelry, anything they could use or sell."

"And no one noticed?"

"The parties affected don't...can't...notice anything else," Neal said. "The compulsion is that strong." HE sipped his wine. "We've narrowed it down to two men and two women, usually working in teams," he said. "One distracts the server, the other doses the drinks. It takes effect a few minutes after it's ingested then all bets are off as to if they make it someplace private."

"I assume the Suit would like me to do some digging, see what I can find out," Moz said.

"If you would," Neal said. "We have faces but no names, not to mention where they're getting it."

Moz was silent as he thought, sipping his wine. "Not many people doing the designer stuff," he said. "Should narrow it down." He gave a short nod. "I believe I know someone who can help."

"Would they talk to Peter?" Neal asked.

"She's more anti-government than I am," Moz said. "So that would be a no." He regarded his friend a moment then said, "Since this stuff causes an intense need for sex, I'm assuming it's not just robbery taking place."

"There have been a few reports of non consensual sex," Neal said.

"Another date rape drug," Moz said, a bit disgusted. "As if GHB and MDMA weren't enough."

"Right now it's just robbery," Neal said. "Mostly used in the clubs. Could you imagine the potential for blackmail with this stuff?" He wasn't surprised when Moz's lip curled in a sneer. Neither had ever resorted to blackmail since it required no imagination, no finesse and lacked elegance. Despite the illegality, their cons and heists were works of art. Blackmail was crass and they considered themselves above that.

The thought of blackmail caused Neal to shudder slightly and be very grateful that Peter had been Monica when they'd been dosed and through the aftermath.

"What?" Moz asked, seeing it.

"What what?" Neal asked innocently.

"Something happened," Moz said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Neal said.

Moz gave him a narrow look but didn't press. "Are you and the Suit going undercover?" he asked.

"And risk getting dosed? No thanks," Neal said. "Drugged or not, I still prefer women."

"But the Suit can...change," Moz said.

"I know but he's still Peter," Neal said. "Besides, there's Elizabeth."

"There is that," Moz conceded.

"And there's too much of a risk of him getting lost," Neal said. "He doesn't know how being drugged will affect his magic. Wouldn't want him to start throwing fireballs or something, would we?"

"I suppose not," Moz said. "And when you say lost..."

"If he gets too deep in an alternate persona he could lose his personal identity," Neal said. "He wouldn't be Peter Burke. That almost happened during that escort case we worked before his coma. Fortunately I was there to bring him back. He has to stay focused and he can't if he's drugged."

Moz nodded thoughtfully. "I can see the potential for disaster there," he said then his eyes widened a little when something Neal had said caught up to him. "Wait. You said the Suit almost got lost during that escort case."

"Yeah," Neal said warily.

"And you brought him back. And _that_ means he was undercover as one of the girls and _you_ were the customer," Moz finished a little gleefully.

Neal groaned. "Damn you for being so smart," he said, voice muffled when he scrubbed his face. He looked up to see Moz peering closely at him. "What?"

"So, did you?" Moz asked, smirking a little. "Did you do the deed?"

"No," Neal said, scowling.

"Was he Monica? Patty? Who?"

"He was Patty," Neal said. "Besides, I have no idea if the transformation is that complete. He might not be able to."

"Sure looked complete the one time I saw it," Moz said.

"Monica was fully dressed," Neal said. "And I"m sure she would have decked you if you'd tried to look under her skirt."

"She's tiny," Moz said a bit dismissively.

"She has Peter's training," Neal said. "Now can we please drop the subject? We need to find out where this drug is coming from and who's running around dosing innocent people with it."

"You got pictures?" Moz asked.

"Yeah," Neal said. He retrieved the printouts and slid them over to Moz. "Anyone look familiar?"

"Not off hand but I'll ask around," Moz said, pocketing the pictures. "I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Anything would help," Neal said.

Shortly after, Moz left to do whatever Moz did when he wasn't with Neal and Neal couldn't help feeling he'd dodged a bullet. He had no idea how Moz would react to finding out that he and Monica had had a wild night of sex. He was still occasionally teased for having just flirted with her.

 

Three days later, the caught a break from an unlikely source. Cyber Division informed them that a card issued to Monica Hayward had been used at a high end clothing boutique to the tune of several hundred dollars.

"Neal..." Peter gathered his partner on his way out to question the manager, filling him in as they went.

"Why was Cyber informed?" Neal asked.

"Because they had a flag put on it when we went under at Giselle's," Peter said. "We were in such a rush to leave Lamar's that Monica forgot her purse."

The boutique wasn't far from the Federal Building so they opted to walk.

"May I help you gentlemen?" the salesclerk asked. "Something for your wives, perhaps? Your girlfriends?"

"Thank you but no," Peter said. "Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI. My partner, Neal Caffrey. We'd like to ask you some questions. Earlier today we received an alert that a credit card issued to a Monica Hayward was used at this store."

"Oh my," the clerk said. "Don't tell me it was stolen."

"Yes ma'am," Peter said. "It's in connection to another crime under investigation."

Neal produced the security tape stills, handing them to the clerk. "Did either of these women use the card?" he asked.

"Yes. This one," the clerk said after a moment's study. She indicated the second of the two female suspects. "I remember her because she acted like...well...like a kid in a candy shop and everything was free. Then her companion told her to make up her mind."

"Her companion?" Peter asked.

"Yes, a gentleman about five seven, five eight and...brown. Brown hair, brown eyes and clean shaven."

"One of these two?"

"Yes, him," the clerk said, indicating the male who'd been at Lamar's.

"Thank you ma'am. You've been most helpful," Peter said. He took a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "If you think of anything else, please call."

"You know," Neal drawled when they left. "Next time you're Monica, you might suggest to Elizabeth that she bring you here. I noticed quite a few things in her size."

"And how would you know what size my wife is?" Peter asked.

"Smart ass. I meant Monica," Neal said. "And yes, I know what size she is. After all, her clothes were all over my floor."

"Elizabeth was tempted to stick you with the dry cleaning bill," Peter commented. "After you took shameless advantage of her husband."

" _I_ took advantage?" Neal asked in mock outrage. "If I remember right - and I do - Monica started it."

Peter grinned. "Not used to women being the aggressor? No chance to use your charm?"

"You've met Alex, right?" Neal asked a little sardonically. "It's just that for such a...tiny thing, she's a sexual powerhouse. There were a few times I thought I broke something. And I don't mean bones." He grinned when Peter laughed. "But seriously, if Monica was completely separate from you, I doubt I could keep up with her...at least in the bedroom."

Peter made an 'Eh' face. "At least some of that was the drug," he said.

"True," Neal said. "So how do we find these guys?"

Peter suddenly stopped short and Neal saw him mentally slap his head. "I guess this had me more rattled than I thought," he said.

"Wanna clue me in here?" Neal asked.

"I know what they look like," Peter said.

"Yeah, we have the stills," Neal said, puzzled.

"And I can find anybody if I know what they look like," Peter said. "Come on. I have a mirror in my desk."

"How did I not remember that?" Neal asked as they continued to the office.

"How could _I_ not remember?" Peter asked. "That's the real question."

 

Once back in his office, Peter closed the blinds to avoid curious eyes. "It'll be faster if we both look," he said, laying a hand on Neal's shoulder. At Neal's nod, he concentrated briefly and felt the slight tremor pass through his partner. He handed the mirror to Neal, answering the unspoken question. "Any reflective surface," he said. "The monitor will work well enough."

Neal nodded, took the mirror and sat, snagging a pencil and a sheet of paper while Peter angled his chair until his computer monitor became reflective. Five minutes later, they had the location of all four. "We're going to need ERT," Neal said. "Place is piled with stuff they got with the stolen cards."

"We'll call after we get them into custody," Peter said as they stood. "We'll grab Jones and Blake."

"Explanation?"

"Anonymous tip," Peter said.

 

An hour later, they had all four in custody and before they were even half way to the office, fingers were being pointed in an effort to get a deal. It continued in interrogation - Peter and Neal barely had to ask any questions before the story spilled out. And when told of the charges against them - identity theft, grand larceny, reckless endangerment and the distribution of illegal drugs - Peter and Neal saw the fear in their eyes when they realized they were looking at major prison time, even if they cut a deal. All except one.

By the luck of the draw, Neal was the one who interrogated him. "You know the others rolled on you," he said. "Said it was your idea to not only dose people but to rip them off while they were...involved."

"Can't prove it," the man said, a slight smirk curving his lips.

"Don't really have to," Neal said. "They say it was your idea, you say it wasn't... who do you think a jury is going to believe? Three to one. They also said you're the one who got the drug."

"Possibly."

"If you didn't, who did?"

"I'm not telling you anything. Not without my lawyer."

Neal studied the man cuffed to the table across from him, looking for tells. He trusted his ability to read people as much as Peter trusted his gut. And what he saw was a man who was firmly convinced he would get away with everything he'd done, convinced he'd serve no prison time. He felt anger coil in his stomach at the self satisfied...smugness rolling off the prisoner and suddenly surged out of his seat, leaning over the table. "You're nothing but a rapist," he nearly spat. "Forcing people to have sex and not giving a damn about the aftermath. You thought it was funny, got your rocks off having that much power, didn't you? Well guess what they do to rapists in prison. You think you can fight them off but you won't be able to. You're not that tough. Trust me, I _know_. They'll have you up against the shower wall your first week."

"Neal..."

Neal turned to see Peter beckoning him from the door and gave their perp a disgusted look before stalking out.

Peter pulled him into an empty office. "You need to calm down," he said.

"I'd like to break his neck," Neal said with a glower. "I hope he gets stuck in a cell with the biggest, horniest cons in the joint. It's what he deserves."

"Neal, calm down," Peter said.

"Peter, he's the one who made you cheat on Elizabeth," Neal said a bit heatedly. "With _me_. You got lost because of that smug asshole. He didn't care, he thought it was funny. He's nothing but a rapist."

"And we both know what happens to them in prison," Peter said. "It's whatever they did gets done to them. And you're right. He's not tough enough to fight them off. He's a pansy compared to the people he'll have to deal with." He grasped Neal's shoulder and shook gently. "And I didn't cheat on El, not really," he said. "As you both pointed out, it was Monica who was with you that night. And while I got lost, I didn't _stay_ lost. I'm fine. _We're_ fine. Okay?"

Neal felt the anger drain from him, seeing the sincerity in Peter's expression. "I'd still like to break his neck," he said.

"And break your years long streak of non violence?" Peter asked. "Nah. He ain't worth it." He briefly squeezed Neal's shoulder. "Are _we_ okay?" he asked.

Neal let out a breath. "Yeah, we are," he said.

"Good," Peter said. "El said to invite you to dinner tonight. You coming?"

"OF course."

 

They wrapped up the case when they found the supplier and Peter requested - and received - permission to destroy what was left rather than have it taken to evidence lock up. Somewhat surprisingly, they found it came in powder form and Peter opted to burn it. They boxed it up and set it in the middle of the room where it had been kept and Peter lobbed a fireball into the center.

 

Over dinner, they did a post mortem of the case, both noting but not commenting on the fact that Elizabeth was watching them closely, looking for any shift in their dynamic though Peter did say, "We're fine, hon. Really."

"Yeah, we are," Neal said. He pushed his empty plate aside and picked up his wineglass. "We've even teased each other about it so..."

"Yeah, he suggested that you and Monica go to that boutique where Monica's card was used," Peter said.

"Think we'll be seeing her again?" Elizabeth asked.

"Possibly," Peter said. "I know you weren't happy about this last time but there will probably be times when she'll come in handy. Her, Patty, Denise or someone else."

"You're right. I wasn't happy," Elizabeth said. "But you're right too that sometimes the alternates will come in handy. There will be times when one of you can't be...you. And I know you'll be careful...you _are_ careful. It was just this case..."

"One of our more...nerve wracking, I grant you," Peter said.

"That's putting it mildly," Elizabeth said then visibly relaxed, even smiled a little. "So...this boutique..."

 

Later, when he returned to the loft, Neal sat out on the terrace, a glass of wine at his elbow, thinking about the case just wrapped up. He'd learned a bit more about his partner in the process - he'd learned that Peter could separate himself from his alternates and even joke a little about getting lost. He also found out his partner could be sneaky when he made an accidental gesture...and colored lights danced over the terrace. He chuckled, knowing without doubt that he and Peter would truly be okay.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal get a case that requires Neal's talents...

"So, what do we have today?" Neal asked, dropping into the visitor's chair in Peter's office. "Money laundering? Embezzlement? Mortgage fraud?"

"Nothing so pedestrian,"' Peter said. "Van Gogh's _Tree Roots_ is on loan to the Powell and we've received word that it's been targeted." He passed the file to Neal. "We'll need your particular...talents for this one."

"Ummm, which one?" Neal asked. "You want me to steal it first?"

"Not exactly," Peter said. "We want you to make a copy, and add something...extra. And no, not your initials." He slid a small ziploc bag over. "That's a locator tag," he said. "Incorporate that into the painting and we can follow it, hopefully all the way to the buyer."

"Any idea who the buyer might be?" Neal asked. "Not many are interested in lesser known works."

"So you've heard of it," Peter said, whereupon he received a somewhat sardonic 'Duh' look from his partner. "Of course you have," Peter said. "What was I thinking?"

"When do we need it?" Neal asked.

"As soon as you can get it done," Peter said. "The Powell only has it for the next two weeks."

"I'll need a few days once I get what I need," Neal said, closing the file.

"Invoice what supplies you need," Peter said.

Neal nodded as he ran through the specifics of the painting in his head. "I'll need a bigger oven than the one in the loft to age it," he said.

"How big is it?"

"Roughly one and a half by three and a half," Neal said. "Or, more precisely, nineteen point seven inches by forty point six inches. My oven barely holds a large pizza."

"I'm sure we can find something suitable," Peter said. He regarded the other man for a moment. "Will you need to examine the original?" he asked.

"It would help," Neal said. "Any chance the Powell will remove it from display so I can?"

"Unfortunately, no," Peter said. "But I'll see if I can make arrangements for you to examine it in situ after hours. Good enough?"

"I guess it'll have to be," Neal said. "Fortunately I'm familiar enough with Van Gogh's works that it shouldn't take long."

Peter gave a short nod, not bothering to mention that he was well aware of Neal's familiarity with the artist and that he knew of at least three of the forgeries he'd done of the painter's works. "All right," he said. "Tell us what you need and we'll get it to you. Just don't..."

"Use any of it for my own purposes," Neal finished, amused, knowing what Peter was thinking and not in the least offended by it. "If there's anything left over, I'll use it to paint an original. Good enough?"

"You don't do enough originals," Peter said in response.

 

Sooner than Neal would have expected, the canvas and paints were delivered to the loft per his request, impressed that the Bureau had spared no expense in getting the highest quality paints in the exact colors Van Gogh had used more than a century earlier. The canvas was the precise size of the original and obviously stretched by an expert. Neal felt a bit insulted by that but put it aside, realizing they'd just wanted to save him a little time since they were on a deadline.

Setting it up on his easel, he began to sketch a rough draft of the painting on the canvas, referring frequently to the pictures he'd taken of the original.

 

The sun was beginning to set when there was knock on the door and Neal straightened, grimacing at the slight kink in his back and the soreness of his shoulders. "Come in," he called, standing back to look at his work critically. He glanced up to see Moz enter. "Hey Moz."

"Van Gogh's _Tree Roots_?" Moz asked, pouring himself a glass of wine.

Neal nodded, not surprised Moz recognized it despite it being not even a quarter done. "It's on loan to the Powell," he said wiping his hands "Word has it someone wants it for their private collection and doesn't want to pay for it."

"So this is sanctioned," Moz said, indicating the unfinished canvas.

"One hundred percent," Neal said.

"Any idea who?"

"No but that's why we have this," Neal said, sliding the small ziploc bag over. Inside was the tiny locator tag. "The Bureau wants me to hide it in the painting so we know who it ends up with. The hard part will be making the switch since they don't want to close the exhibit even for the few minutes we'd need."

"After hours?" Moz asked.

"Suggested that but we'd rather not take the chance that whoever is after it will be there too," Neal said. "That means we'll have to do a daylight switch."

"Tricky," Moz said.

"I'm sure we can come up with something," Neal said. He paused a moment, taking a sip of his wine, then asked, "You haven't heard anything, have you?"

"About a hit on the Powell?" Moz asked. "Nothing specific but I'll keep my ears open."

"Thanks. All we know is it'll be within the next two weeks," Neal said. "After that it goes back to Amsterdam."

Moz studied the supplies laid out on the table as Neal cleaned his brushes, being done for the day. "Looks like you have more than enough," he said, indicating the tubes of paint.

Neal quirked a smile. "I told Peter if there was any extra, I'd do an original," he said. "Looks like I'll be able to."

"You conned them into getting extra," Moz said.

Neal shrugged. "Maybe a little," he said, still with the smile. "Though I'd be willing to bet Peter at least suspected I would."

"The Suit does know you," Moz said. "He won't be mad?"

"As long as I don't do any...unauthorized reproductions," Neal said.

"Like the Haustenberg?" Moz asked with a smirk.

"That was for a good cause," Neal said. "The Channing ignored Haustenberg's wishes that it go to his mistress and therefore to Julianna. Besides, the curator authenticated the one at the Channing."

"You got someplace to age this?" Moz asked.

"Yeah. I asked June if I could use her oven since mine isn't big enough," Neal said. He let out a breath as he put his supplies away. "You hungry? I was thinking Chinese."

"Szechuan not Cantonese," Moz said.

"Since when do I order Cantonese?" Neal asked, sounding affronted.

 

Two days later, Neal carefully placed the completed canvas on Peter's desk, looking somewhat uncertainly at his partner. Though Peter wasn't the expert Neal was, he knew art and his opinion was important to the excon/forger/thief.

"Looks perfect," Peter said, giving him a smile. "Well done. Now to make the switch."

"The original is still at the Powell?" Neal asked.

"They've been keeping a close eye on it," Peter said. "Part of the agreement with Amsterdam. Cameras and a guard...just in case. No word of anything wrong." He studied the painting for a moment. "The locator tag?"

"Embedded in the painting, right here," Neal said pointing to the lower right corner. "That way if it's cut from the frame we won't lose it." His brow furrowed in a thoughtful frown. "I think I know how to make the switch," he said after a few minutes.

"We can't let anyone know we have," Peter said. "Not even museum personnel."

"You think it might be an inside job?" 

"It's a possibility," Peter said.

"So no one can see us make the switch," Neal said then gave Peter a somewhat devious smile. "So we don't let them _see_ us," he said. "Give me the invisibility. I make the painting vanish and replace it with my copy."

"The guard," Peter said. "Not to mention the public."

"So we go early in the day, before the crowds," Neal said. "You distract the guard while I make the switch."

Peter thought it through. It could work but his main concern was the camera. If Neal was quick enough no one would notice if they weren't looking for it. "I'm glad you didn't have this during the chase," he said, sounding amused.

Neal grinned in response. "I'll admit it would have come in real handy," he said. "Along with some of the other things you can do."

 

They were at the museum the next morning right after open and Peter gave Neal the invisibility as they got out of the car. Neal hefted the copy and swiftly made it vanish before they entered.

As expected, the museum was nearly empty - only a few small groups and individuals were making their way slowly around the exhibits - and the Van Gogh stood out, being the only one with a guard stationed by it.

"Ready?" Neal said in a low voice as they approached.

"Got the copy?"

"Right here," Neal said, lifting his apparently empty hand. He paused, studying the original, running though how he'd make the switch in as little time as possible. He gave a short nod and nudged Peter. "Let's do this," he said.

As Peter distracted the guard with questions about security and how they were being addressed, if he'd seen anyone or anything suspicious, Neal slipped by him, removed the original from its place and made it vanish before replacing it with his copy. Just as the guard turned, he grabbed the (still invisible) original and rejoined Peter.

"Thank you for your time," Peter said to the guard. "It sounds like you have everything under control." Once they made it back to the car, he said, "Now back to the office where we wait...and keep _that_ safe."

Neal made the original reappear and put it carefully in the back seat. "Almost like old times," he said with a grin as he buckled his seatbelt.

"Probably the easiest heist you've ever pulled off," Peter said dryly.

"Well, I never had Fed help me before," Neal said.

"Extenuating circumstances," Peter said, starting the car. "Don't expect it to happen again."

"Lately, I've learned to expect the unexpected with you," Neal said.

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" Peter asked, mouth twitching in a smile.

"You know what I meant," Neal said, rolling his eyes. He glanced back at the painting as if to make sure it was still there. "Now we wait to see if the copy goes anywhere."

 

They didn't have long to wait. That evening, after the Powell closed, someone hit the museum and Van Gogh's _Tree Roots_ left the building.

 

"It's on the move," Peter said the next morning at the office. He handed Neal the locator. "Right now it's still in Midtown."

"We keep waiting?" Neal asked, handing the device back.

"For now," Peter said. "We'll wait a few days to see if it goes anywhere. If not, we'll move in."

While they waited to see if the painting moved, they dove into other cases, Peter checking periodically to see if there was any movement.

"Whoever took it is probably waiting to meet with the buyer," Neal said after Peter checked yet again. "That could take a few days." He turned a page in the file he was reading. "Usually it's me who doesn't like waiting." He smirked when Peter rolled his eyes.

"I just want to make sure it doesn't leave the country before we can nab the buyer."

"Ignoring the probability that the buyer is here in New York," Neal said.

"Just covering all the bases," Peter said equitably.

"We could go after whoever pulled the heist," Neal suggested.

"Think they'd roll on the buyer?" Peter asked.

"Maybe," Neal said. "If we can get them a deal."

 

Three days later, the painting had moved to an address in the Hamptons. After some bureaucratic red tape, Peter secured a warrant and he and Neal drove out to the address the locator gave them.

"Swanky," Neal commented as they pulled up to the gate.

_"May I ask your business?"_

"Agent Peter Burke, FBI. I have a warrant to search the property."

_"Let me see."_

Peter retrieved the warrant from his jacket pocket and held it up to the camera. A few seconds later, there was a buzz and the gate slowly opened, allowing them onto the property. A short time later, they pulled up to an impressive looking two story house to find a man - presumably the owner - waiting for them.

"How accurate is that thing?" Neal asked.

"One point five meters," Peter said. "Just like your last anklet."

"Warrant, please," the man said, holding out his hand.

Peter handed it over then entered the house, Neal right behind him, locator out as he zeroed in on the painting.

"We can get him on more than the Van Gogh," Neal said in a low voice as he walked beside his partner up the stairs. "I saw at least two in the living room that were reported stolen."

They stopped outside a door halfway down the hall. "In here," Peter said, pocketing the locator as he opened the door. The room was obviously an office, dominated by a large mahogany desk and the walls were lined with paintings - one of which was Neal's copy of _Tree Roots_. "Get the painting," Peter said. "I'll get our buyer."

The man went peaceably enough, giving a somewhat resigned sigh as Peter put on the cuffs and put him in the back seat.

 

"How'd you know I had it?" the man asked once they had him in interrogation.

"Locator tag," PEter said.

"You damaged a Van Gogh?" he asked, sounding affronted.

"Not a Van Gogh," Neal said, barely hiding a smirk.

"I know Van Gogh and that was a Van Gogh."

"It's a reproduction," Neal said. "A forgery. I should know. I painted it."

"He did," Peter confirmed.

 

It took a while but they got the name of the thief he'd hired to get the painting for him - Alex Fremont.

"Alex Fremont?" Neal questioned.

"You know him?" Peter asked.

"Unfortunately," Neal said. "He's not quite as bad as Keller. He doesn't mind resorting to violence, might even enjoy it but he's never killed anyone as far as I know."

"Any idea where we can find him?" Peter asked the buyer.

"No. I contacted him through associates of his."

"Names," Peter said.

"I'll get Moz on it," Neal said once they had the names and the man was taken to holding.

 

It took more than a week but Moz came through with Alex Fremont's location - a small house in a somewhat disreputable part of the city. They'd just entered the house when the door closed behind them and the world suddenly went black.

 

Peter woke to an ache in his head and grimaced. As he reached up, he found he couldn't - his hands were bound securely to the arms of a heavy wooden chair. His feet were similarly bound to the legs. For a second, he wondered where he was then remembered - he and Neal had come to bring in Alex Fremont for felony theft of Van Gogh's _Tree Roots_...even though the painting had been one of Neal's forgeries. Well now they could add assault and kidnapping of a Federal officer and Federal contractor.

"Peter..."

Peter looked to the side to see Neal similarly bound, looking a little dazed. "You okay?" he asked.

"Under the circumstances, just peachy," Neal said with a grimace. "What happened?"

"He was waiting for us," Peter said. "Someone tipped him off. Had to be."

Just then, the door opened and a man in his early thirties entered. He looked Peter over with a calculating expression then said, "So. A Fed. I won't ask how you found me because someone obviously has a big mouth. The question is what am I going to do with you." He turned to Neal. "And Neal Caffrey," he said. "I'd heard you'd turned snitch but I didn't believe it. I though 'Not Caffrey. He's too good, he loved the life too much to give it up'."

"Yeah, well, things change," Neal said. "You know, prison, having your girlfriend blown up before your eyes tends to make you reconsider your life choices."

"Sorry about Kate," Alex said, not sounding sorry at all.

"So, what are you going to do with us?" Peter asked. "Are you even prepared to hold two people for more than a few days?"

"Not really," Alex admitted. "This was somewhat spur of the moment."

"Who else is in on it?" Neal asked.

"Who says there is?"

"We're not stupid," Neal said. "It would have taken at least two people to get us down here and tied up."

Alex shrugged. "I have an...associate," he said. "And he suggested I hold you for ransom. Said the Feds would probably pay a pretty penny to get one of their own back."

Neither Peter nor Neal mentioned that the Bureau didn't negotiate with kidnappers since that was probably the fastest way to get themselves killed. Peter tugged on the ropes binding his hands. "You know, you'll have to untie us eventually," he said.

"Really? And why's that?"

"You really _didn't_ think this through, did you?" Peter asked, rolling his eyes. "Bathroom breaks...and we have to eat sometime."

"You're fine the way you are for right now," Alex said. "Now, I have some business to attend to so if you'll excuse me..."

"Any idea how we can get out of here?" Neal asked once Alex left.

"You can't slip the ropes?" Peter asked.

"There's no give, no wiggle room," Neal said after a few minutes trying. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Peter said.

"If I were smaller..." Neal paused, looking at his partner. "Or _you_ were..." he said.

"It'd have to be Monica," Peter said, understanding immediately what Neal was getting at. "Patty and Denise aren't as petite." He jerked his head at the door. "Keep an eye out for our friend." He brought Monica's image to mind and shortly after, felt his body shrink, the ropes becoming loose around her wrists until she could pull them out with only minor scrapes. "Hang on while I get my feet," she said. She leaned over and a flame appeared at her fingertip. A few minutes later, the ropes were burned through and she pulled her feet free. "You have a knife on you?" she asked as she turned back into Peter.

"Okay, first of all, that was kind of freaky," Neal said. "And second, no, I don't have a knife."

"All right, same way I got loose then," Peter said, crouching at Neal's feet. "And yes, I'll try not to burn you." Carefully, he applied the flame to the rope binding Neal's foot as Neal strained against it until it broke. "One down, three to go," he said, moving to the other foot.

Just as the last rope came loose, they heard footsteps approach and Peter simultaneously pulled Neal to his feet and made them both vanish.

"What the...?" Alex stopped short, seeing the empty chairs, the empty room and lengths of burned rope on the floor then startled - badly - as his hands were pulled behind his back and he heard the sound of cuffs being snapped around his wrists.

"Congratulations," Peter said in his ear as he and Neal reappeared. "You've graduated from breaking and entering and felony theft to kidnap and assault of a Federal officer and Federal contractor. You're looking at some serious time."

"And by the way, " Neal said. "The Bureau doesn't pay ransom so you'd have had to decide if you wanted to move up to murder."

"Now, where's your associate?" Peter asked.

"On the second floor," Alex said, sounding resigned.

They went up to the first floor and Peter briefly squeezed Neal's shoulder, feeling the slight tremor. "Hold him here," he said. "I'll get the other."

"I could take you," Alex said to Neal as Peter went upstairs. "You never were much of a fighter."

"Not this time," Neal said. "One, you're cuffed and two, I've picked up a few things working with Peter." He leaned in a little. "Oh and the Van Gogh you were hired to boost? It's a forgery...one of my better efforts if I say so myself. Certainly fooled the buyer." He smirked a little and said, "There are certain advantages to working with the Feds. I still get to pull the occasional con, paint a forgery, even steal something now and again. And I don't have to worry about ending up in Supermax for the rest of my life."

"Did you have to?" Peter asked, coming down with a tall, slim, nondescript man with his hands ziptied behind his back.

"No, didn't need to," Neal said, knowing what Peter was really asking. That brief tremor he'd felt a few minutes earlier had been his partner giving him the timestop...just in case Alex had tried to make a run for it.

 

Neal stood back from the canvas, contemplating its subjects. With the case wrapped up and the (original) Van Gogh returned to the Powell and no pressing cases at the office, Neal decided to keep the implied promise he'd made and paint an original with the extra supplies he'd gotten from the Bureau. At the moment, the canvas showed the barest suggestion of two figures, one with its arms around the other's neck and the other with its arms around the waist of the first. 

Hours later, he became aware of another presence in the loft and straightened to find Moz studying the painting from behind him.

"For the Suit and Mrs. Suit?" Moz asked.

"I told Peter I'd paint an original," Neal said. "And after everything they've done for me..." He shrugged. "It's the least I could do."

"You should do more of your own work," Moz said.

"Hmmm, you seem to be agreeing with Peter more often lately," Neal said a bit teasingly, sipping his wine.

"Well, I've found the Suit is right more often than not," Moz said. "And it's entirely possible I've had a change of heart concerning him."

"I think that happened a long time ago," Neal said. "And I"m sure he won't tell anyone." He turned back to the painting, the two figures now clearly defined and recognizable. It showed Peter and Elizabeth standing in the living room of the Brooklyn townhouse, apparently slow dancing, their eyes closed as Elizabeth rested her head against Peter's broad shoulder, their expressions unmistakably one of love and contentment with Satchmo gazing at his humans with doggy adoration from his bed. "You think they'll like it?" he asked.

"Of course they will," Moz said. And, as with many things, he was right.

 

"What's the occasion?" Elizabeth said as Neal somewhat nervously handed her the finished, wrapped painting.

"Just...you know," Neal shrugged. "As a thank you...for everything."

"That's not necessary..." Elizabeth said. "You're family. It's what family does."

"I know but I sorta promised Peter I'd do something original," Neal said. He gestured at the painting Elizabeth still held. "So? Tell me what you think."

Carefully, Elizabeth unwrapped the painting, her breath catching as the paper fell away. "Oh Neal...it's...it's beautiful," she breathed. She felt Peter take the painting from her and wrapped her arms around Neal. "Thank you sweety," she whispered. "We'll treasure it forever."

"After everything, it was the least I could do," Neal said. He looked at Peter who was looking at the painting, the tiny clench of nervousness in his chest loosening at the soft smile on his partner's face.

"She's right," Peter said, looking up. "It _is_ beautiful. So, where to hang it..."

"Pride of place, of course," Elizabeth said.

"That's not..." Neal began.

"Haven't you learned by now not to argue with my wife about these things?" Peter asked, amused and grinned at Neal's rueful smile.

"It's just...I'm not used to this," Neal said. "My own work being so well received, you know?"

"Do more and you might be surprised," Elizabeth said. "This is _your_ magic and you should use it more often."


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal are on the trail of a robbery/smuggling ring and Elizabeth wants to help bring them down.

Peter scanned the crowds as he wandered the street fair he and Neal were attending, looking for their suspect in a robbery/smuggling ring - one Rodrigo Gonzales. Intel told them he had a habit of frequenting carnivals, street fairs and circuses that were in the area, visiting psychics of all stripes - mediums, tarot readers, anyone proclaiming to have ESP. "Anything?" he asked in a low voice.

"Nothing yet," Neal's voice answered in his ear. "Are we sure he'll be here?"

"Word has it he makes it a point to come to these things," Peter said. "Keep looking."

It was another half hour before he got word. "I see him," Neal said, voice a little tinny through the earpiece. "Just now going into the tarot reader's tent, by the dunking booth."

"Keep an eye out. I'll be there in a few," Peter said, making his way through the crowds. As he got closer, he heard a splash and the cheer of the crowd as someone took a brief, cold bath, finding Neal on the periphery, his gaze on the flap of the tarot reader's tent. "Still in there?" he asked as he joined his partner.

"Readings can take ten, fifteen minutes," Neal said. "Longer, depending on how detailed they want to get." He quirked a brow at Peter, an impish smile tugging at his mouth. "Wanna see how your pitching arm is?" he asked, tilting his head at the dunking booth. "We've got time."

"We're working," Peter said.

"We're waiting," Neal corrected. "Can't do much else while he's in there getting his fortune read." He nudged the other man. "Come on, let's see that All Star pitcher," he said.

"You know I never made it past college ball," Peter said.

Neal shrugged. "Yeah but you could have," he said. "I've seen you pitch - both a baseball and a fireball."

Peter looked undecided but Neal could see he wanted to test his skill, see how rusty he was when it came to throwing something more solid than fire. Finally, he gave Neal a wry look and said, "All right. Keep an eye out." He stepped up to the line, paid the minimal fee and was handed three regulation baseballs, waiting as the "dunkee" got situated on the collapsible seat, feet dangling inches above the tank of water. Taking a deep breath, he tuned out the crowd, his focus narrowed to the small bull's-eye next to the tank. Drawing back, he let the first ball fly, watching as it hit the lever dead center, heard the squeak of surprise followed by the splash.

"Not bad, old man," Neal said, amused. "Two out of three?"

Peter ignored the voice in his ear, tossing the next ball as he waited for the reset but he couldn't help the twitch of a smile.

He'd just sent the "dunkee" into the tank for the third time when Neal caught his attention. "Gonzales is on the move," Neal said. "He just came out of the tent."

Keeping a discreet distance, the two men followed their suspect to the perimeter of the fair and past it, out into the streets of the city.

"So, how'd it feel?" Neal asked after a few minutes. "You'd have struck out the batter if you'd been on the mound."

"Maybe not," Peter said with a slight shrug. "Depends on the batter, on his stance and how good he is. But...it felt good."

Neal's gaze went back to their suspect. "Looks like he has company," he said.

Indeed. Now they were following two men who seemed to be in some sort of heated discussion, Gonzales emphatically shaking his head at one point. Curious, Peter and Neal slowly decreased their distance. "Not there," Gonzales said insistently. "You know that place gives me the creeps."

They saw the other man turn his face up as if asking a higher power for patience. "Come on, Roddy, you know there ain't no such things as ghosts. It's an old house. It creaks."

"I've heard the stories," Gonzales said. "Man kills his entire family then himself. That's prime conditions for a haunting. All that negative energy."

Peter and Neal exchanged a somewhat incredulous look. "He believes in ghosts?" Peter asked.

"You don't?" Neal asked in return. "You've never experienced or seen something you couldn't explain?"

"I've seen plenty of things I couldn't explain...at the time," Peter said.

"You don't believe in an afterlife?"

"Even though I'm lapsed, I do believe in the soul," Peter said. "I just don't think it sticks around after death. It goes on to wherever souls go." He regarded his partner a moment. "What about you?"

"Just once," Neal said. "I was in Paris, in the catacombs, way off the beaten path...and no, you don't want to know why...and I would swear I heard voices - behind me, in front of me, to the sides. It was like I was surrounded but there was no one there. At first I thought it was a tour group and their voices were just echoing but sound doesn't really carry that far...at least not as far as I was from the usual tour route."

"And what were they saying?" Peter asked with an air of just humoring his partner.

Neal shrugged. "I only caught a word or two here and there," he said. "Mostly I was focused on getting above ground."

Ahead of them, the two men led them into a neighborhood undergoing gentrification - vacant lots filled with trash and weeds shared blocks with abandoned houses, some burned out husks and new construction - and turned up the walkway to a stately looking house, paint peeling a little but still sturdy.

"Come on, Donny," Gonzales said with a slight whine to his voice as he stopped short of the porch.

Donny huffed out a breath. "We just need to get a few things," He said. "We won't be long. Maybe twenty minutes." With obvious misgivings, Gonzales followed him inside.

"What say we get a peek at what they're after?" Neal asked. "Might give us an idea where they'll hit next."

Pete glanced around and, seeing the street was empty, swiftly brought his hand down, seeing his vision ripple slightly. "Come on," he said.

Counter to his usual stealth in these situations, Neal made no effort to be quiet as they mounted the steps, earning a frown from his partner. "This place is supposed to be haunted," he said in a low voice. "And like Donny said, it's old. It creaks." He paused a moment then said, "Give me the invisibility. I can look around while you listen in on our suspects."

After a moment hesitation, Peter clasped Neal's shoulder, feeling the slight tremor before Neal vanished. Slowly they opened the door and they heard voices coming from the living room. "Where's those floor plans, Donny?"

"Brady left them upstairs," Donny said as he rooted around in a sideboard near the dining room.

"Upstairs?" Gonzales asked nervously. "But that's where..."

Donny sighed. "Ain't nothing up there but furniture," he said. "The dearly departed are just that. Departed. As in not here." He made shooing motions toward the stairs. "Go on. Brady wants to go over the plan tonight and we need those floorplans."

Reluctantly, Gonzales headed to the stairs and up them, unaware that he had a tail in the form of an unseen Neal Caffrey.

Downstairs, Peter saw Donny find what he was looking for - a set of lockpicks and a safe cracking kit - and stuff them into a small gym bag. "Roddy!" he called. "You got them?" He made his way over to the stairs, seeing Gonzales descending...then halt abruptly halfway down. "Come on Roddy, let's go."

"I...I can't," Gonzales said, eyes widening a little as he pushed against an unseen something.

"Quit kidding around," Donny said, sounding a little irritated. "We got to go."

"I'm _not_! Something's in my way!"

"Ain't nothing there," Donny said, mounting the stairs and grabbing his arm. "Come on!"

Behind them, the door slowly creaked open then suddenly, violently slammed shut. "I _told_ you this place was haunted!" Gonzales hissed.

Beside Gonzales and Donny, unseen, Neal grinned at the startled, somewhat frightened expressions of the two men then gently nudged Gonzales down the stairs, his grin widening as he heard Peter begin whistling a catchy tune. "Nice touch, Peter," he said.

"I thought so," Peter replied from near the door. "See anything interesting?"

"Yep," Neal said. "You might want to let them out," he added as the two men practically sprinted to the door, casting fearful glances over their shoulders.

"If you're thinking about doing this in the office...don't," Peter said as they reappeared, the other two long gone.

"Buzzkill," Neal muttered. "Anyway, according to the floorplans Gonzales retrieved, they're going to hit Altima's jewelry store."

"Too bad they didn't say when," Peter said. "We need to find out that and who this Brady is."

"Ringleader is my guess," Neal said as they left the house. "Since Donny said he wanted to go over the plan tonight. My guess is they'll hit sometime in the next few days." He grinned. "I think we made a believer out of Donny."

Despite himself, Peter returned the grin. "Maybe but we're not ghosts."

"So, what were you going to do when Elizabeth found out?" Neal asked.

Peter shrugged. "Something...romantic," he said. "But she started without me and...well, loss of concentration and the secret was out."

"That's all you're going to give me? Really?"

"That's all you need to know," Peter said. "But if you want, you could try asking her."

 

Once they were back at the office, Peter put Jones on running down all known associates of Rodrigo Gonzales as he contacted Altima's to let them know about the planned heist, having them up their security and to let them know if they saw anyone or anything suspicious.

"We gonna put the place under surveillance?" Neal asked as he and Peter sat in Peter's office.

"We don't have enough to justify it," Peter aid.

"But the floorplans..."

"And how would we _plausibly_ explain how we saw them?" Peter asked. "An anonymous tip wouldn't really be enough either. We need solid evidence before the brass will sign off on it."

"Okay. How about unofficial surveillance?" Neal asked. "Maybe we could spook the whole crew."

"Let's see what we find out about this Brady first," Peter said. "He very well could be the type to shoot first and ask questions later."

At the end of the day, Neal accepted Peter's invitation to dinner - after he'd cleared it with Elizabeth, of course - and Peter grabbed the casefiles as they left.

"You're still wondering what I was planning with El, aren't you?" Peter asked, somewhat amused when he saw Neal's thoughtful look as they drove to Brooklyn.

"Well, I know what _I'd_ do in that situation," Neal said then hastily added, "Not with Elizabeth of course..."

"And you can't decide if I'd do the same thing," Peter said, still amused. "How many times have I told you that you continue to underestimate me?"

Neal gave him a look of mixed surprise and admiration. "You old dog you," he said slyly seeing a smirk cross Peter's face. "Have you since...?"

"That's none of your business," Peter said.

"I could ask Elizabeth," Neal said.

"You could," Peter agreed. "No guarantee she'd tell you though."

 

When they got to Brooklyn, they found Elizabeth in the kitchen, putting the last touches on dinner before it went into the oven.

"What's on the menu?" Neal asked as Peter went up to change.

"Ranch Cheddar chicken, Ranch roasted potatoes, salad and peas and carrots," Elizabeth said.

"Sounds...complicated," Neal said as Elizabeth put the remaining ingredients away.

"Not at all," Elizabeth said as she wiped her hands. "The recipes are almost stupidly easy. I'll give them to you if you want." She saw the curious expression Neal wore. "What?"

"Peter told me that he was going to...surprise you right before you found out about his magic...the invisibility..."

Elizabeth grinned impishly as she poured them each a glass of wine. "I'm afraid I kind of spoiled that surprise," she said.

"So you don't know what he was going to do," Neal said.

"Not exactly," Elizabeth said. "But I have a good idea."

Neal smiled somewhat ruefully. "He wouldn't tell me either," he said. "I mean, I know it's not really my business but you can't blame me for being curious."

"I'll just say that it was probably something we'd both enjoy," Elizabeth said.

"Did you tell him?" Peter asked, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a beer from the fridge.

"I couldn't since I don't know myself," Elizabeth said, knowing what Peter referred to.

"But you have an idea," Neal said.

"Oh, I have plenty of those," Elizabeth said. "And any one of them could be the right one."

"You wouldn't tell her?" Neal asked Peter.

"If she asked," Peter said, sipping his beer. "Tell you what, if you think you've figured it out, tell me and I'll tell you if you're right."

"Or I could just drop it and leave it between the two of you," Neal said. "I'm not sure if I really want to know."

 

"Delicious as usual, Elizabeth," Neal said, pushing his empty plate aside. "I thought it would be too 'ranch-y' with both the chicken and the potatoes but it really wasn't."

"I thought it would be too the first time I made it," Elizabeth said. "But it's subtle, especially on the potatoes. Not overpowering."

"Well, I definitely want the recipes," Neal said. He sat back addressing Peter. "So, about that surveillance..."

"Still don['t know enough about this Brady character," Peter said. "We don't know much about the gang as a whole, really. "I'd prefer to take them down by turning one of them informant."

"Gonzales would probably be the easiest," Neal said.

"Why do you say that?"

"His belief in the...insubstantial," Neal said. "You saw his reaction in that house..."

"Yeah, he was rather...nervous," Peter said.

"Wait. What's this about?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

So Peter and Neal filled her in on what they knew about Gonzales' rather unusual beliefs, what had happened at the house they'd followed him to and how he and his cohort had fled the scene.

"You made him think the house was haunted?" Elizabeth asked when they finished.

"He already thought the house was haunted," Peter said.

"We just...reinforced the idea," Neal added.

"Well, who's to say it isn't?" Elizabeth asked and saw Peter's somewhat surprised look. "Well, there's no proof to say ghosts do exist but there's no proof to say they don't either," she said. "As Shakespeare said, there's more things in heaven and earth, Horatio..."

"Than are dreampt of in your philosophy," Neal finished.

"And my personal interpretation of that line is: we don't know nearly as much as we think we do," Elizabeth said.

"Do _you_ believe in ghosts and all this psychic stuff?" Neal asked curiously.

Elizabeth pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," she said. "I guess you could say I'm...agnostic. I don't have enough evidence to decide either way. Though I've seen a few mediums that make me wonder."

"So what do you suggest?' Peter asked his partner.

"If we want to turn Gonzales informant then we need to find out everything we can about him," Neal said. "If he has any brothers or sisters, his parents - especially if they're deceased."

"And make it seem like they're suggesting he cooperate," Peter said.

"That seems a bit...underhanded," Elizabeth said.

Peter and Neal exchanged a look then Peter said, "We got word today that suggests the gang may move into...live product."

"Live..." Elizabeth trailed off, eyes wide. "You mean, like Corman?' she asked.

"Possibly," Neal said. "Our intel isn't a hundred percent reliable."

"Sketchy really," Peter said. "But we don't want to take the chance that they are."

"It's not just jewels, art and drugs they're boosting," Neal said. "They're smuggling it as well. And if they start targeting people...children, well..."

"Yeah," Elizabeth said. She thought for a long moment then took a deep breath. "I want to help," she said. "If they're going to start...stealing children..."

"We don't know if they will," Peter said. "Only that they might."

"But if you get confirmation," Elizabeth said. She saw Peter's uncertain look. "I've helped with cases before," she said. "Ghovat, Merlin, helping Monica get ready for Giselle's. I won't get any more involved than that."

"You could give her some defensive magic in case Gonzales gets...agitated," Neal said.

"All right," Peter said, reluctantly. "But only if they're moving into trafficking."

 

About a week later, Jones gave them what he'd found about Gonzales' associates, especially on one Brady Haskins - it wasn't pretty. Haskins was known to get violent and the fact that this crew had stayed together for more than two or three jobs was unusual. But it was Moz who gave them the intel they really hadn't wanted - Haskins had definitely moved into trafficking. Street kids, homeless kids and runaways were being reported missing by family, friends and acquaintances.

"We need to turn Gonzales," Neal said. "He's been with Haskins the longest so he knows more than the others."

"All right. How?"

Neal paged through the information thay'd gotten on Gonzales. "How about dear old Mom?" he asked. "He'd most likely listen to her." He passed the file to Peter while he gave him the highlights. "Elena Gonzales was fifteen when Rodrigo was born. Dropped out of school at sixteen and got a job at a diner to support them. When he was fourteen, she was killed in a drive by outside their apartment. According to neighbors, the two were very close and Rodrigo didn't take her death well, started visiting psychics, mediums and the like, to get closure I guess. He hooked up with Haskins when he was fifteen and has been with him for the last eight years. Seems he has a talent for circumventing security systems."

"So how do we do this?" Peter asked.

"Fill Elizabeth in on everything we know about the late Ms. Gonzales," Neal said. "Let her play the part of medium. If she needs...special effects...I could do that."

Peter looked through the file, seeing a picture of Rodrigo's mother - a young woman, dark hair and eyes with a smile that had probably lit up the room. The idea he had turned his stomach a little but he knew it could come in handy, especially if Gonzales proved to be...resistant. He let out a breath. "We'll talk to El," he said. "See if she has any ideas that might help."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you interested in the recipes for the dinner Elizabeth made, here they are...and as she said, they're stupidly easy.
> 
> Ranch Roasted Potatoes
> 
> 4-5 red potatoes  
> 1 packet Ranch seasoning  
> 1/4 cup vegetable oil
> 
> Cut potatoes into bite size pieces and put in gallon size ziplock bag with vegetable oil. Mix until thoroughly coated. Add Ranch seasoning and mix until coated.  
> Place on greased baking sheet and bake at 400 degrees for 45 minutes.
> 
> (Potatoes may stick to sheet due to caramelization)
> 
>  
> 
> Ranch Cheddar Chicken
> 
> 3-4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts  
> 3/4 cup mayo (NOT Miracle Whip)  
> 1 packet Ranch seasoning  
> 1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese, mild or sharp  
> 1/2 cup Panko bread crumbs.
> 
> (A/N: I eyeball the amount of mayo, cheese and Panko so amounts given are approximate.)
> 
> Trim chicken breasts and place in casserole dish.  
> Mix mayo, cheese and Ranch seasoning until well blended.  
> Spread on chicken breasts until covered.  
> Top with Panko and bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the case of a robbery/smuggling ring that's moved into human trafficking, Peter and Neal enlist Elizabeth's help in turning a gang member informant.

They waited until after dinner before filling Elizabeth in and Peter handed her the file containing the information they had on Gonzales and his mother.

"So you want me to be a medium?" Elizabeth asked.

"Think you could?" Peter asked.

"With enough prep time I could," Elizabeth said. "But how do you propose getting him to see me? And where would I set up shop for this little performance?"

"The loft," Neal said. "I could be your assistant, show him in through the terrace."

"June wouldn't mind?"

"I'll explain the situation," Neal said. "She wouldn't want children exploited any more than you do. Doesn't like exploitation of any sort, especially after the Hearts Wide Open case. As for getting word to him, I can ask Moz to drop the word in the right ears."

"How much time will you need?" Peter asked.

"I just need to memorize the highlights, I guess," Elizabeth said. "Where he was born, went to school, his...extracurricular activities, mother's name and how she died..." She paused. "A week?" she said, uncertainly. "But what if he still doesn't take the bait?"

"If it comes to that, I have an idea," Peter said. "You impersonate his mother."

"How?"

"Magic," Peter said. "I give you the shape change. According to the information we have, you're about the same size. All you need is a picture." He tapped the photo in the file.

"But I've never..." Elizabeth started. "Couldn't you or Neal...?"

"I need to be ready to follow him in case he goes back to where the gang is," Peter said. "And Neal would stay with you to provide...window dressing."

"It would be more effective if he saw you change into his mother," Neal said. "A few levels above the channeling most mediums do."

"And they _are_ trafficking children?"

"Children as young as five and as old as thirteen," Peter said. "Ideally, we find out who they're selling to. If not, at least we can shut them down."

Elizabeth let out a breath and nodded. "All right," she said. "Looks like I have some homework to do. And I'll need to practice with the magic. I haven't had any since you gave me the lights."

"Anything big coming up?" Peter asked.

"Nothing Yvonne can't handle," Elizabeth said. "A Sweet Sixteen party and a product launch."

"All right, first thing after work tomorrow," Peter said.

 

After Neal went home, Elizabeth and Peter settled on the couch, each with their own files - Elizabeth studying the particulars of the lives of Elena Gonzales and her son, Rodrigo and Peter with trying to find leads to finding the gang in the case file. Peter looked up when Elizabeth sighed. "Hon?"

"It's just...sad," Elizabeth said. "Teen mom trying to raise her boy and getting gunned down in a senseless shooting. Did they ever catch who did it?"

"I'm not sure," Peter said. "It would have been the NYPD's gang taskforce who would have investigated. With all the gangs in the city, they may not have had the manpower."

"So what do I do if Rodrigo asks me who killed his mother?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter set his file aside with a sigh. "I don't know, hon," he admitted. "A lot of this you're going to have to...wing it, I guess. All we really need is for you to convince him his mother wants him to cooperate with us in bringing down the gang." He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "You have good instincts, hon. Use them."

 

"This is a bit...stereotypical, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked, indicating her costume of full skirts that fell to just below her knees, peasant blouse and kerchief that covered her hair.

They'd gotten word that Gonzales had taken the bait and was more than willing to consult Elizabeth when she had the time. Moz had proven to be quite the one man PR firm, touting Elizabeth's rather unique talents. Even June had gotten in on it, agreeing to show their mark (okay...target) up to the terrace. "You look great," Neal said, placing a few pillar candles on the coffee table which was covered in a heavy cloth. "The magic?' he asked.

"I practiced last night," Elizabeth said. "But honestly, I hope I don't have to use it."

"Peter gave me a few too," Neal said.

"Which ones?"

"The invisibility, the fire and the lights," Neal said. "Just to set the mood if you need it."

Neal had just lit the candles when June tapped on the terrace doors. Beside her stood Rodrigo Gonzales, looking somewhat nervous.

"Show time," Neal said almost inaudibly in her ear.

"Please, show him in," Elizabeth said, inclining her head and hiding her nerves as she took a seat on the couch and waving Gonzales to the armchair. "Please sit, Mr. Gonzales." Once he sat, she said, "Now please tell me why you've come."

"My mother," Gonzales said.

Elizabeth appeared to think a moment. "Ah yes, dear Elena. Such a tragedy. And you were so young. You wish to speak to her."

"If I could..."

"Of course," Elizabeth said. "I've been feeling her presence since I knew you were coming."

"Does she know who shot her?"

This was the question Elizabeth had been dreading but she had an answer. "I'm sorry but she never saw his face," she said. "It happened so quickly, you see. She knows you've had a hard life since her passing and it pains her, the path you've taken. It's not at all what she wished for you."

"What can I do?"

"The right thing," Elizabeth said. "You know in your heart what it is." She paused as if listening then frowned slightly. "She's saying something about...children? And money?" She noticed Gonzales start to fidget. "She wishes to know, Rodrigo."

"I can't say," Gonzales said in a low voice.

Elizabeth brought the picture of Elena Gonzales to mind and gasped, feeling her features start to shift. She hadn't planned it exactly but her instincts were telling her she needed to do this. She felt Neal's hands on her shoulders, grounding her.

"You're doing great," Neal whispered almost inaudibly in her ear. "He needs to see his mother."

She felt her features continue to shift, her clothes become slightly baggy since the other woman was a little smaller, less curvy than she was.

"Mama?" Gonzales whispered, eyes wide.

"Rodrigo. Oh Rodrigo, what has happened to you? Don't tell me this is what has become of you since my death."

"I had no one when you died. Brady took me in, got me off the streets...I _owe_ him."

"Owe him your freedom? Your life? You must get off this path you're on before it's too late. You know what you must do."

"But Mama..."

"Please Rodrigo...for me. I will rest easier, knowing you are safe, out of the life you find yourself in."

For a tense few seconds, they saw Gonzales wrestle with himself then watched him deflate. "For you Mama," he said. "Who should I tell?"

"There is an Agent Burke of the FBI. He's the one you need to tell. He and his people can save the children who've been taken, return them to their loved ones." Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes, seeing them in Gonzales'.

"I miss you so much," he whispered.

"I know. But I'm at peace now and I'm always with you...here." Elizabeth leaned forward, placing her palm on his chest. She withdrew her hand and slumped on the couch, feeling her features return to normal. She drew a deep breath and straightened. "Have you found the answers you were looking for?"

"Yes. Thank you," Gonzales said as he stood.

Elizabeth waited until he left before falling back against the couch and scrubbed her face, gladly accepting the glass of wine Neal handed her before she got her phone and called Peter.

"Hon? You all right?" Peter asked when he answered.

"For the most part," Elizabeth said. "Just a little...unsteady. Anyway, you should be getting a visit from Mr. Gonzales. He agreed to talk to you about what Haskins is doing."

"I knew you weren't thrilled about doing this..."

"No, no, I wanted to help,' Elizabeth said. "And I think I did. The children..."

"I know, hon," Peter said gently.

"I'll see you soon...then I'm going to have a minor breakdown if you don't mind."

"Anything you need," Peter said.

 

As soon as she got home, Peter took her in his arms and just held her, feeling her clutch his shirt as shivers skittered through her. "How can you do that?" she asked, voice slightly muffled against his chest. "Change into someone else and...be fine with it?"

"Well, usually it's not so...emotional," Peter said. "And Monica, Patty...they're not real. Elena Gonzales was a real person, someone who died much too young."

"He asked me who did it," Elizabeth said. "And I wished I could tell him." She pulled back a little and Peter settled her on the couch before going to the kitchen and returning with a glass of wine.

"Are you really okay?' Peter asked, sitting beside her. "I can tell this really rattled you."

"I'll be fine," Elizabeth said. "And I think I helped him. He just wanted to talk to his mother, tell her he missed her, that's all. I don't think he's a _bad_ person. Just one that got lost at a young age."

"And you helped him do that," Peter said.

"What will happen to him?"

"I think we can get him a deal,' Peter said. "If he gives us enough to shut down Haskins, he shouldn't do that much time. Probably in a low security prison, non violent offenders." He gave her a light squeeze. "You did good, hon."

"Thanks but I think I'll leave the heavy magic to you and Neal," Elizabeth said. She sipped her wine, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "I decided to change without really planning to," she said. "Change into Elena. But it felt right, like I needed to, you know?"

"Probably because you knew what he needed," Peter said. "He needed to see his mother so he could say good bye. I don't think he's a bad person either. Just fell in with the wrong crowd when he had no one else." He gestured and the room filled with colored lights, a smile touching his mouth when he saw Elizabeth's.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, leaning her head against his shoulder as she watched the colors dance around the room.

"Any time, you know that," Peter said.

 

"Agent Burke, there's a Rodrigo Gonzales here to speak to you," Kelsey said, sticking her head into his office.

"Conference room," Peter said. "I'll be in in a few minutes."

"Yes sir."

"How's Elizabeth holding up?" Neal asked.

"She was a little rattled at first," Peter said. "She told me she didn't exactly plan on changing. That it just felt right. She also said she's leaving the heavy magic to us. And thank you for staying with her."

"Glad to do it," Neal said.

Movement in the conference room caught their attention. "Looks like our informant's here," Peter said as they stood. "Let's see what he can tell us."

"You're Agent Burke?" Gonzales asked when they entered the conference room.

"Mr. Gonzales, how can we help you?"

"Brady Haskins," Gonzales said. "I can tell you whatever you want to know about his operation, what he's done, what he's dealing in."

"And in return?"

"I want a deal," Gonzales said. "Light sentence in a low security prison, probation instead of parole."

Peter and Neal exchanged a look then Peter said, "If you give us enough, I'm authorized to give you immunity from prosecution for any crimes you committed while part of Haskins' gang."

"Hope you have plenty of tape because I have plenty to tell."

 

In the end, Gonzales gave them more than enough to take the gang down - what thefts they were responsible for, where they kept the drugs and what drugs they were smuggling, who they sold to and, most importantly, where the children they'd taken were being held.

"I think you've more than earned the immunity,' Peter said when they finished.

"It was the right thing to do," Gonzales said. "It's what my mother wanted."

"I'm sure she'd be very proud," Peter said. "You'll be escorted to a safe house until the trial. Agent Callahan will take you."

"I'll need some things..."

"We'll take care of it," Peter said. As Neal went to get Callahan, he said, "You did a good thing and you're young enough to start fresh."

"You think so?"

"Sure," Peter said. "Never too late." He indicated Neal down in the bullpen. "He was a criminal half his life," he said. "Did time in supermax but now he's the best partner I ever had, a good friend too. No one is past redemption unless they want to be."

"You wanted to see me sir?" Callahan asked from the door.

"Mr. Gonzales will be staying at safe house gamma until the Haskins gang goes to trial," Peter said.

"Yes, sir," Callahan said. "Should I inform the Marshals?"

"I'll put in the call," Peter said. "They'll meet you there."

"How come I was never offered immunity?' Neal asked as Callahan led Gonzales from the room and they were back in Peter's office.

"Because you didn't turn on a ruthless gang of of thieves, drug dealers and human traffickers," Peter said.

"Oh...that's right," Neal said thoughtfully. He shrugged. "Oh well, the deal I had wasn't that bad," he said. "Sure beat time in supermax." He let out a breath. "So, what have we to now?"

"A nice little jewel heist," Peter said, handing him the file and smiled when Neal's eyes lit up.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal's cover is blown on a case and they meet someone who has something in common with Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings in characters that appear in a (forever to be unpublished) story I wrote more than ten years ago.

Peter swore softly as the door slammed closed, locking them in the concrete walled room, the only light a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling - no windows, not even a vent.

 

It had started as a simple meet with their suspect who, among other things, had a thriving business in blackmail. Peter and Neal had gone in, posing as buyers of Roman antiquities and hoping to get the incriminating evidence the suspect had on a flashdrive. Well, they got the flashdrive - Neal having palmed it right before their target had received a phone call. That call had resulted in their cover being blown and them being frogmarched, at gun point, to be thrown into their makeshift cell.

"You wouldn't happen to have your picks on you by any chance, would you?" Peter asked, seating himself on the floor by Neal.

"Unfortunately, even if I did, it wouldn't do much good," Neal said. He indicated the door, specifically the strip of open spacae at the bottom. "There's at least two guards outside. So unless you can freeze them through an inch of steel..."

Peter sighed. "That's not happening," he said.

"And if I did get the door open, they'd probably shoot as soon as I did," Neal said.

"And they'd be too close for me to stop them," Peter said.

Their attention was brought back to the door when they heard voices on the other side.

"If you kill a Fed, you're done, Angelo! That's the death penalty!"

"Thay'd have to catch me first...and find the body."

"And you don't think the whole damned Bureau won't be after you?"

Peter and Neal exchanged a grim look. Peter wasn't armed and his magic would be nearly useless in such close quarters - all he could really use was the lights but that would only work on those in fairly close proximity and they'd have to be looking at him. Angelo Carter had at least a dozen men working for him - the two at the door, his partner, his "assistant" and at least eight men roaming the grounds of his secluded estate, all armed and most likely ordered to shoot them on sight in the unlikely event that they escaped.

Peter stood. If he was going to be killed, he sure as hell wasn't going to be sitting when it happened. Beside him, Neal stood as well. Suddenly, they were grabbed from behind and pulled back...onto the expansive lawns, stumbling a little before they found thier feet.

"What the...?" Peter asked, turning around. There stood a dark haired man about Peter's height. "Who are you?"

Before the man could answer, they heard a shout followed by the appearance of a heavily armed man rushing toward them. Without thinking, Peter raised his hand then flung it out, palm out, causing the man to rise then freeze...then realized Neal wasn't the only witness.

Oh...shit.

With a sigh of resignation, Peter turned to face the stranger...only to be greeted with a look of curiosity and a raised brow.

"Interesting," the man said, seeming unfazed by the display of Peter's magic.

"Interesting?' Neal questioned.

"Would you prefer impressive?' the man asked, sounding a little amused. "Because that applies as well."

"Listen, if you could, you know, keep this to yourself..." Peter said.

"Oh, I agree," the man said. "I'm aware that such...abilities should be kept from the attention of those in authority." He extended a hand. "Sebastian Blakemore."

"Peter Burke and my partner, Neal Caffrey," Peter said, shaking his hand.

"Partner?"

"At the Bureau," Neal said, noting the implied meaning in the question. "He's married. To a wonderful woman."

"Ah. I see."

"From what you said earlier, about keeping secrets," Neal said. "I assume you can do something you'd rather no one know about."

"Indeed," Sebastian said. "It involves how I got you out."

"Care to share?' Peter asked.

"In short, I can make a shortcut between two places, regardless of distance and despite barriers," Sebastian said. They heard shouting in the distance which rapidly grew closer. "Gentleman, I do believe it would be wise to vacate the premises." He grabbed hold of their arms and pulled them closer.

When they next took stock of their surroundings, they found themselves on a gravel drive in front of a stately looking house, a bit run down looking but still in excellent shape.

"So where are we?' Peter asked as they mounted the steps to the door.

"I guess you could say it's my default destination," Sebastian said as he led them inside. "This is my home. Please, make yourself comfortable. Drink?"

"No, thank you," Peter said as they sat.

"So Peter, how did you two come to be in the situation I found you in?" Sebastian asked. "Or is it classified?"

"No, no classified," Peter said. "Neal and I were undercover as buyers, hoping to get evidence of the crimes the suspect was committing."

"Our cover was blown," Neal said. "When you showed up, they were discussing whether to kill us or not."

"Which brings up the question. How did you know we were in trouble?' Peter asked.

"He has a knack for knowing when someone is," a woman said as she entered.

"Gentleman, this is my wife, Carlene,' Sebastian said. "Love, this is Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey."

"A pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances," Carlene said. "I hope the trip here wasn't too...abrupt."

"No, not at all," Peter said. "Just...unexpected."

"Peter and I have something in common," Sebastian said.

"The shortcut? But..."

"No, not that," Sebastian said. "He also has some rather...unusual talents."

"Really? I'd love to see them," Carlene said interestedly. "I mean, if you would..."

"I'd like to keep the number of those in the know small," Peter said a little reluctantly. "Only three other people know. Well...four, counting your husband."

"I can assure you, I can keep a secret," Carlene said.

Peter hesitated, studying her, listening to his gut. Finally, he nodded. "What your husband saw was just a small part," he said.

"He levitated a man then immobilized him," Sebastian said. "Quite intriguing."

"Sounds fascinating," Carlene said.

As the other three talked, Neal had been perusing the room. "Quite the collection you have here," he said, indicating the paintings on the walls.

"You know art, Mr. Caffrey?' Sebastian asked.

"He's our resident expert," Peter said. "So yeah, he knows art."

"And what is it you do?" Carlene asked.

"I'm an FBI agent," Peter said. "White Collar division. Neal's a consultant." He started a little. "I need to call Jones, tell him the meet was a bust."

"Sorry, we have no cell reception out here," Carlene said a little apologetically as Peter pulled out his phone.

"It _does_ seem a bit...rustic out here," Neal commented. "You're completely off grid?"

"We prefer it that way," Sebastian said.

"Moz would love you," Neal said, his mouth quirked in a fond smile.

"Speaking of, do you think he would do some digging to see who blew our cover?' Peter asked.

"I could ask," Neal said. "You think it was one of Angelo's crew?"

"Or an associate," Peter said. He turned his attention back to Sebastian. "If you could take us back..."

"Of course," Sebastian said. "Not to where I found you..."

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Peter said. He thought for a moment, remembering what Sebastian had told him of his particular ability. "Can't go to the office either," he said.

"Too many questions about how we just appeared in a glass walled office," Neal said. 

"My house then," Peter said.

"Won't Elizabeth freak out?" Neal asked.

"She has an event this evening," Peter said. "She had to get there early to supervise set up."

"I can take you there," Sebastian said. "But I'll need to see it first."

"Yeah, I can understand that," Peter said. "Will an image do?"

"Of course."

"If you have a mirror..." Peter saw their puzzled looks and explained. "Another of my abilities. I can find anyone or anything using a reflective surface if I know what they look like."

"You can scry?" Carlene asked, sounding a little surprised.

"You know about that?" Neal asked.

"Only from RPGs," Carlene said. 'Never met anyone who could actually do it though."

"I think I"m the only one," Peter said a little dryly. "At least, as far as I know."

"What else can you do?"

In response, Peter gestured and the room filled with colored lights. "That's the most...passive, I guess," he said, seeing Carlene's rapt expression. "If I use it at full power, well, we'd be stuck here for a while."

"Why is that?" Sebastian asked.

"It knocks people out," Neal said.

"Accidentally got my wife with it once," Peter said a little ruefully.

"You were sick," Neal said. "Not your fault."

"Well, I'll get that mirror for you," Carlene said before leaving the room. She returned a few minutes later with a heavy, ornate hand mirror and handed it to Peter. "Acceptable?"

"This will do fine," Peter said. He motioned for Sebastian to stand beside him and called up the image of the Brooklyn townhouse.

"Maybe the living room," Neal suggested.

"I see your point," Peter said. The glass clouded once more then showed the Burke's living room. "Good enough?" 

"Excellent," Sebastian said. Though he seemed to do nothing, an oval shaped grey area appeared in front of them. "Gentleman..." He indicated they go first. "I'll be back shortly," he added to Carlene. She gave him a nod and the three men stepped through.

As soon as they stepped into the living room, Satchmo was on his feet and bounded toward them, sniffing curiously at Sebastian. "Satch, down," Peter said firmly, pointing the dog to his bed. "Sorry about that."

"No problem at all," Sebastian said.

Peter turned to the other man. "Thanks for your help," he said. "If there's anything I can do, just ask."

"Likewise," Sebastian said, shaking the proffered h and. "Although, I may be difficult to contact." He gave them a nod and stepped back through the grey area, which disappeared.

Peter pulled out his phone, quickly dialing Jones. "Jones, yeah, it's me," he said.

"Peter? What happened?"

"Our cover was blown," Peter said. "How, we don't know but we managed to get the evidence we were after."

"And you got out?" Jones asked then answered his own question. "Of course you did otherwise we wouldn't be talking. Are either of you hurt?"

"Not even a scratch," Peter said. "We're fine." He gave Neal a nod as the younger man handed him the flashdrive. "We'll be at the office shortly then we'll see just what Mr. Carter was into."

"You mean besides blackmail and smuggling?" Neal asked when Peter got off the phone.

"Yeah, besides," Peter said, pocketing the drive. "Come on, we have a lot of work to do."

 

What they found of the drive amounted to spreadsheets, detailing what had been stolen, who the buyers were and how much each piece had been sold for as well as who was being blackmailed and for how much. They also found that Angelo Carter was doing brisk business in illegal drugs, from pot to designer drugs and just about everything in between.

"He has his fingers in a lot of pies, doesn't he?" Jones commented.

"Yeah, Greek, Roman, Etruscan antiquities, jewels, art," Peter said. "And enough drugs to overdose half of New York state."

"Unfortunately, we don't know where he's keeping any of it," Jones said with a sigh. "That much product, he'd need a warehouse."

"I'll ask Moz to sniff around," Neal said. "It's almost a given he's not leasing under his own name."

"We have any aliases for him?' Peter asked.

"None confirmed," Jones said. "Although the name Hugo Alvarez keeps popping up."

"See what you can find on that," Peter said.

"So, it seems you're not the only one who can do magic," Neal said once Jones left Peter's office.

"Apparently," Peter said. "I think what surprised me most was how he wasn't surprised."

"You think he'll keep it to himself?" Neal asked.

Peter was silent as he thought, going over his impressions of the man who'd rescued them from Carter's crew. Although he hadn't wanted anyone else to know outside Elizabeth, Neal and Moz, his gut told him he could trust this Sebastian Blakemore and his wife. "Yeah, I think he will," he said. "I got the feeling they're keeping a lot of secrets themselves. What do you think of them?"

"Obviously wealthy despite the...distressed condition of their house," Neal said. "The paintings I saw are worth mid seven figures easy. I also noticed a number of antiques from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. That mirror you used? Worth a few grand at least. The only reason for them to live off grid is because they want to."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Peter said. "I doubt that house was ever wired. No switches, no sockets."

"Want me to see what I can dig up on them?" Neal asked. "I know you're curious."

"I do like a mystery," Peter said.

"You don't say," Neal said, wryly amused, making Peter grin. He stood. "I'll let you know what I find," he said. As he made his way to his desk, he called Moz.

"Security code."

"Moz, not now," Neal said. "We need a favor."

"As in the Suit," Moz said.

"As in," Neal said. "See if you can find out if Angelo Carter is leasing any warehouse space. We found out he's dealing in a lot more than blackmail and antiquities. Volume is large enough to need a lot of space."

"How much?"

"Practically wholesale," Neal said, firing up his computer. "Antiquities, art, jewels...and drugs. Lots of drugs."

"I'll see what I can find," Moz said.

"Thanks." Once he hung up, Neal brought up the Bureau's database and entered the name Sebastian Blakemore, not surprised when he got no results but all that meant was he wasn't a criminal...or hadn't been caught or suspected. He widened his search to include his wife, Carlene. Still no results. According to what he could find, the two didn't exist. So, on a whim, a hunch, a gut feeling, he began searching through historical records. "What the...?" he said softly, puzzled.

"Neal?"

Neal looked up to find Peter standing by his desk. "Umm, I found out rescuer," he said. "But I doubt even Moz would believe where."

"Tell me on the way home," Peter said, seeing the somewhat...unsettled look on his partner's face. "So, what wouldn't even Moz believe?" he asked as they made the drive to Brooklyn.

Neal sighed, wondering how to frame his answer without sounding as crazy as his friend did on occasion. There really wasn't one so he said, "I didn't find out where they're from," he said. "I found out when. I think."

"When what?"

"When they're from," Neal said. "There's nothing on them in any database I looked through...except historical records. From what I could find out, they could be...time travelers."

"Time travel is impossible," Peter said.

"Says the man who can go invisible, conjure fire and levitate people among other things," Neal said. "Besides, quantum physics allows the possibility."

Peter silently conceded the point. "No record of them at all?" he asked.

"I found a birth record for a Sebastian Blakemore dated July tenth, seventeen eighty four in London," Neal said.

"Maybe he just has the same name as an ancestor," Peter suggested.

"I thought so too," Neal said. "But I looked through the society pages they had on file and found an illustration. According to the article, there was a lot of speculation about the new Duke of Richland and his American wife." Neal paused as they pulled up to the house in Brooklyn and waited until they were inside before continuing. "That illustration showed the Sebastian and Carlene Blakemore we met today."

"You're sure?" Peter asked as they shrugged out of their jackets.

"Not absolutely, no shadow of a doubt certain," Neal said. "But damned close. I mean, I know it's possible for genes to combine to produce lookalikes generations apart but I don't think that happened in this case. And it would explain why they're off grid...because there _was_ no grid."

Peter still looked unconvinced as he got a beer for himself and a glass of wine for Neal as the younger man set up his laptop. When Peter returned, Neal brought up the search he'd done in the office, fining a photo of a portrait that had been done of the Duke and Duchess in eighteen thirteen.

"See? Neal said. "Portrait painters at the time stayed true to their subjects, kept the painting life like. There's the dark hair and blue eyes of Sebastian and the blond hair, green eyes of Carlene. The faces are identical. Even if they're descendants, what would be the odds of those two meeting - much less marrying - like their ancestors did?"

"It would seem to skirt the very edge of possibility," Peter allowed. "But time travel..."

"Impossible, I know," Neal said. "But so is what you can do...at least without help." He called up the rest of what he'd found, opening tabs as he did. "I also found Carlene since that article gave her maiden name," he said. "Carlene Wittaker, born in Illinois in nineteen eighty nine. One sister, Janelle. Parents deceased. Both were left a sizable inheritance on their mother's death."

"How sizable?"

"Ten million. Each," Neal said. "Carlene moved to a small town in South Dakota at nineteen, worked as a medical assistant in the town's clinic. No record of her anywhere after two thousand twelve. It's like she dropped off the face of the earth." He brought up a photo of Carlene then opened the tab with the portrait, putting them side by side so Peter could make the comparison. "What are the odds?' he asked again. "You said yourself you had the feeling they're keeping a lot of secrets. If I'm right then Carlene is keeping more than anyone."

"Let's say you're right," Peter said. "Then yeah, Carlene would almost have to keep what she knows to herself. If I remember my science fiction, she couldn't reveal what she knows or she'd risk changing the timeline. Same for Sebastian since he could get firsthand knowledge."

Neal regarded his partner a moment. "That's a bigger secret than yours," he said. "If the wrong people found out about you two..."

"Yeah," Peter said. "And they'd have the perfect leverage to force us to cooperate."

"Elizabeth and Carlene," Neal said. He could see Peter wasn't completely convinced and added, "I know it's just a theory but the evidence is compelling."

"Yeah it is," Peter admitted. He let out a breath and sat back. "I wonder if he knows how he does it," he said musingly. "I mean, even discounting the time travel theory, what he can do is...impressive."

"Instantaneous travel," Neal said. "We went from wherever he lives to here in a matter of seconds."

"Not to mention he got us out of a locked room," Peter said.

"That too," Neal agreed.

"Really only one way to find out and that's to ask them," Peter said.

"But we can't contact them," Neal said. "Not if they're where... _when_ we think they are."

 

When Elizabeth got home that night, she found Peter on the couch, reading on his laptop. Curious, she looked to see what had his interest as she kicked off her shoes and sat beside him. "Who's Sebastian and Carlene Blakemore?" she asked. "Suspects in a case?"

"No, not suspects,' Peter said. He called up the photo and the portrait. "What do you see?"

"They're the same person," Elizabeth said, confident.

"Actually...," Peter said.

"They're not?"

Peter gave her a brief recap of their day - how they'd been made, locked in a room with no other exit, how they'd gotten out and where they'd been taken. "According to Neal - and I'm more than halfway to agreeing with him - these two...are time travelers," he said, watching Elizabeth's face.

"But that's..."

"Impossible," Peter said. "Yeah but as Neal pointed out, so is what I can do."

"Is it just time, do you think?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, it's not," Peter said. "The way he put it was he could make a shortcut between two places, regardless of distance or barriers. Like how he got us out of that room." He studied her a moment then asked, "What do you think? Do you think this guy can time travel?"

"What evidence supports it?" Elizabeth asked in response. "You were at this man's house..."

"Nothing that can't be logically explained," Peter said. "There are plenty of people who live off grid, especially in rural area."

"But when it comes to abilities like yours, logic goes out the window," Elizabeth said. "There's no explaining it...because it shouldn't be possible."

"So you don't think he can," Peter said.

"I'm saying don't discount it," Elizabeth said. She patted his leg. "Come on," she said. "It's late. Time for bed."

Peter shut down his laptop and followed her upstairs, putting the possible time traveler out of mind.

 

TBC...


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The subject of their latest case takes Elizabeth and once again Peter receives help from an unlikely source.

Peter sat in his office, going over what he and Neal had uncovered regarding Sebastian and Carlene Blakemore. Even though he'd dug further, expanding his search to the rest of the country, he could find nothing on Carlene after two thousand twelve. She'd transferred the title of both her house and car to her sister but her accounts remained active - sporadic but still active. No credit card activity after her...relocation. His search through historical records showed a death certificate for Sebastian Blakemore dated August second, eighteen fifty five and one for Carlene Blakemore dated April eighth, eighteen sixty two, both in London. He didn't get into the geneology since it had no bearing. As he stared at the photo and portrait, his phone rang and he answered almost absently. "This is Burke."

"Agent Burke. I do believe you have something of mine."

"Who is this?"

"The person you stole a flashdrive from yesterday. That drive is very important to my business."

"Carter."

"Very good, Agent. Now, I propose a trade. You return what's mine and I'll return what's yours." There was a huff of amusement and admiration. "Your wife is quite the beautiful woman, Agent. You must be quite the man to have won her over."

"You son of a bitch!"

"Today. Six o'clock in Columbus Circle. Don't be late or your wife will be."

Immediately after Carter hung up, Peter pulled out his mirror to get Elizabeth's location and what he saw made his stomach drop. The place was a fortress - not in size but in security. Carter seemed to have hired more guards, all heavily armed. The building itself was of cinderblock and the room where Elizabeth was being held was barely the size of a closet, holding only a metal folding chair on which Elizabeth sat. His heart clenched, seeing her brave face but he could also see how scared she was. "I'll get you out of there, El," he said softly. "I promise."

"Peter? What is it?" Neal asked from the door. "What's wrong?"

Peter motioned him over. "Carter," he said and showed him the mirror.

"What does he want?"

"The drive in exchange for El," Peter said. "Six o;clock in Columbus Circle. Today."

"Why? We have everything on it," Neal said.

"There must be more," Peter said. "More than just spreadsheets. Encrypted maybe."

"Your magic won't help you get her out, will it?" Neal asked after studying his partner.

"I don't see how," Peter said. He scrubbed his face. "Right now, I wish I had our friend's ability. I wish I could get hold of him." His phone rang again. "Burke."

"Sir, there's a...Sebastian and Carlene Blakemore here to see you," the lobby guard said, sounding a bit unsure.

"Send them up," Peter said. He saw Neal's question. "Speak of the devil," he said.

"You're kidding," Neal said.

"They're on their way up now," Peter said.

"How did he _know_?" Neal asked, perplexed.

"No idea," Peter said.

Minutes later, the elevator opened and the subject of their conversation stepped off along with his wife. Peter stepped out and waved them up.

"I thought it best to arrive by more conventional means," Sebastian said once he and Carlene were in Peter's office. "What can I do for you, Agent Burke?"

"It's my wife," Peter said. "Our suspect has her hostage."

"What does he want?' Carlene asked.

"The evidence we have against him," Peter said. "We thought we got all the information from the flashdrive but we now suspect there might be more."

"Where is she?" Sebastian asked.

Peter gave him the address he'd gotten then said, "It's in an industrial area and it's heavily guarded. I don't think I'd be able to handle all of them with just my abilities."

"So, I'll get her out," Sebastian said. "And you do what you must. Agreeable?"

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's go get my wife," he said.

"I'm going with you," Neal said. He gave Peter a look. "For back up," he added.

Peter nodded and, as the four of them made their way back through the bullpen, Peter told Jones to look for further files on the drive, see if there was any encrypted information they might have missed.

 

Elizabeth shifted on the hard metal chair. Unable to find a comfortable position, she stood and paced around the cramped room - four steps along each wall. She'd stopped demanding to be let out hours ago and handn't said another word. She was confident Peter knew where she was but from the number of armed men she'd seen, she didn't know how he could get past them and into the room she was in. She was positive there was at least one guard stationed right in front of the door. She jumped when a voice behind her asked, "You're Elizabeth Burke?"

She whirled around, coming face to face with a tall, dark haired, blue eyed man - she'd seen that face before but she couldn't place it. "I am," she said. "And you are?"

"Introductions later," the man said. "Right now, let's get you out of here." He took her arm and led her to a grey oval and they stepped through it.

"Where are you taking me? My husband..."

"Asked me to assist in helping you escape and then take you home," the man said. Again the grey oval appeared and they stepped through into the living room.

Suddenly, Elizabeth remembered where she'd seen her rescuer before. "I know you," she said.

"I don't recall we've ever met," he said.

"I mean, I know of you," Elizabeth said. "Peter told me how you helped him and Neal yesterday. You're Sebastian Blakemore."

Sebastian gave her a small smile and a bow. "A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Burke, even under such circumstances.," he said.

"Elizabeth, please." She saw the oval appear again and said, "Please stay. I have so many questions..."

Sebastian barely hesitated but extended his hand and another came through, followed by a woman. "My wife, Carlene," he said. "Carlene, this is Elizabeth Burke, Peter's wife."

"How do you do?" Elizabeth asked then seemed to shake herself. "Where are my manners? Would you like a drink? Wine?"

"If it's no problem," Carlene said.

"No, no problem," Elizabeth said, going into the kitchen.

 

Peter froze the last of the guards as Neal went looking for Carter, armed with all of Peter's offensive magic. He found his partner in what appeared to be an office at the back of the building, Carter frozen stiff at the desk. "Got them all," he said. "Have you searched the desk?"

"Nothing there of any interest," Neal said. "Got your cuffs?"

"Never leave the office without them," Peter said, hauling Carter to his feet and snapping the cuffs on.

"My men have orders to kill your wife if you take me in," Carter said.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Peter said.

"Sebastian got her out?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, I saw him go in just before we got company," Peter said. "Come on." He none too gently dragged Carter out of the building and shoved him into the back seat of the Taurus. Once he and Neal were in the front, he pulled out his phone and called home. "Hey hon," he said, relieved when Elizabeth answered.

"Hey hon," Elizabeth said. "You get him?"

"Yeah, we got him." Peter said. "I'm going to start his processing then I'll be home."

"Bring Neal with you," Elizabeth said.

Peter chuckled. "I'll do that," he said. "Love you."

"How'd you get her out?" Carter asked from the back. "My men are well trained."

"Doesn't matter," Peter said, starting the drive downtown. "What does matter are the charges against you. Possession of stolen property, blackmail, illegal drug possession and distribution, kidnapping just for starters. Hope you have a very good lawyer, buddy. You're going to need it."

 

"So, how did you know Peter needed your help?" Elizabeth asked.

"I got the impression that he isn't frightened by much but one thing that would is if you were in danger," Sebastian said.

"Not what I asked," Elizabeth said. "How did you know?"

"Let's just say I have a knack for knowing when someone needs my help," Sebastian said. "Your husband did so I came to offer my assistance."

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Sebastian asked.

"That you're time travelers."

"What would make you think we are?" Carlene asked.

"Peter earned the nickname The Archeologist because he digs until he finds out everything he can, whether it be about a case or a person," Elizabeth said. "It's what makes him so good at his job. He dug up everything he could on the two of you and what he found led him to the conclusion that you're not from this time...at least not you, Sebastian."

"Time travel is impossible," Carlene said.

"So is what my husband can do," Elizabeth said. "He told me you know about some of his magic...his unique abilities."

The two were quiet for a few moments, seeming to have a silent conversation then Sebastian said, "I won't insult your intelligence by denying it. Our home year is eighteen fifteen at present."

"Any idea how you do it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Not really," Sebastian said. "Though Carlene has suggested it may be an inherited ability."

"But it needs a trigger," Carlene added.

"And what was the trigger?"

"The deaths of my parents when I was but nineteen," Sebastian said. "And for years, I tried to prevent them. Instead, it led me to others who needed my help, like your husband and his partner." He studied Elizabeth for a moment. "And Peter? Does he know?"

"Where he got his? No, he doesn't," Elizabeth said. "He's wondered for years, decades even but hasn't found out anything. It could be purely mental or it could be genetic." She shrugged. "I'm not sure he wants to find out anymore," she said.

Just then, the door opened, admitting Peter and Neal, who looked a little surprised to find Elizabeth had company.

"You're early," Elizabeth said, standing to give Peter a quick kiss.

"I asked Jones to process Carter," Peter said. He held her at arm's length. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

"No, just stuck me in that concrete closet," Elizabeth said. She gave him another kiss. "I knew you'd find me."

"I always do," Peter said. He turned to Sebastian. "Seems I owe you my thanks," he said. "Again."

"I was glad to help," Sebastian said. He paused then said, "Elizabeth told us of your theory of where we come from."

"Don't you mean when?" Peter asked. "Actually it was Neal's theory."

"Regardless," Sebastian said. "As I told Elizabeth, I won't deny the truth of it."

"So what year do you come from?" Neal asked, sitting on the arm of the chair.

"Eighteen fifteen," Carlene said.

"But you're from the present," Neal said.

"Until about seven years ago, yes," Carlene said then looked between the two men, curious. "What put you onto that particular theory?"

"A search through historical records," Neal said. "I searched for Sebastian's name and found an article about the two of you and how curious London society was about the two of you. From there, I was able to search present day records since I had your maiden name. Bottom line, I found a picture of your portrait and a photo of you. Side by side comparison showed identical women."

"And you didn't dismiss time travel?" Sebastian asked. "Most would have."

"I've known about Peter's magic for almost three years now," Neal said. "So, I guess I've learned not to dismiss anything as impossible."

"You said that I've only seen part of it," Sebastian said to Peter. "Would you show us more?"

Peter shrugged agreeably and passed his hand over Elizabeth, making her disappear. "That one's come in handy a number of times," he said, making her reappear. He rolled his eyes when Neal produced a knife and cut his palm but ran a finger over the wound, closing it. "Paper towels are in the kitchen...and no getting blood on the counters."

"I know if I did, Elizabeth would kill me," Neal said as he stood.

"No, but I _would_ make you clean it up," Elizabeth said.

Next, Peter opened his hand and fire filled it.

"Doesn't that burn?" Carlene asked.

"No," Peter said, snuffing it out. "It's warm but that's about it. I can also see in near blackout conditions."

"You gonna show them the shape change?" Neal said, returning to the living room.

"Who do you suggest?"

"Well, I have to admit Monica's my favorite," Neal said a little too innocently.

"Of course," Peter said dryly.

"Maybe not someone so petite," Elizabeth suggested. "And not female."

"You can change your appearance?' Carlene asked.

"And gender," Peter said.

Carlene smiled impishly and Sebastian said, "I thought one of me was enough."

"Oh, I won't have your ability, just your appearance," Peter said. As he spoke, he slowly changed his features until he looked like Sebastian's twin brother. "I try to avoid using this one too often though," he said, changing back. "It requires more concentration to maintain. If I get...too deep, I may not be able to change back."

"There's one more," Neal said. He tossed a coaster into the air and froze it before making it disappear.

"I thought you said you didn't know anyone else who had your abilities," Sebastian said, puzzled.

"This is temporary," Meal said, making the coaster reappear and setting it on the coffee table. "Twenty four hours. That's why I wanted to go along today as back up. Being a consultant means I'm not armed. At least not with a gun. But since Peter can transfer any or all of his magic to someone else, that's what he did. Between the two of us, we were able to neutralize all of Carter's men."

"I asked you to get El just in case Carter had given orders to kill her if we came after her," Peter said.

"Most impressive," Sebastian said. "And I fully understand your desire to keep this as close to the vest as possible." He looked at Carlene and again, seemed to have a silent conversation before Carlene shrugged. Sebastian nodded then said, "In the interests of full disclosure and to return the trust you've shown us, there's one more thing you should know. Allow us to demonstrate. Elizabeth, if you'd take Carlene into the kitchen..."

Puzzled but willing to play along, Elizabeth motioned for Carlene to follow her. As soon as the two women were out of earshot, Sebastian said, "If one of you would tell me something..."

"Such as?" Peter asked.

"Your choice," Sebastian said. "Just make sure the ladies can't overhear."

"All right," Neal said. He leaned forward from his seat in the chair. "I did four years in prison for bond forgery," he said in a quiet voice.

"Just under," Peter said, keeping his voice low. "You escaped with three months to go."

"And I served those and then some after you caught me again," Neal said.

Neal had just settled back into the chair when Carlene and Elizabeth rejoined them. Carlene seated herself by Sebastian, her gaze on Neal. "Bond forgery, huh? And Peter caught you?" She tilted her head a little. "And why escape with only three months to go?"

"Okay, how did you know?" Neal asked. "I know you couldn't have heard me from the kitchen."

"Telepathic bond," Sebastian said. "She hears what I hear. It extends to all the senses actually."

"And the reverse is true?" Elizabeth asked curiously and received a nod.

"We learned early on that it also stretches across time," Sebastian said. "One of us could be up here, the other at home and we still hear each other."

"As for why he escaped, his girlfriend left him, no explanation," Peter said.

"Escaping is a felony," Carlene said. "Excuse my bluntness but why aren't you still in prison?"

"I got him out on work release to serve the four years he would have gotten for escaping," Peter said. "I investigate white collar crimes and Neal was the best to come along in a long time. He has insights..."

"And connections," Neal added.

"That are very useful," Peter finished. "He helped us bring down a major forger that first month."

"And now?"

"After my sentence was up, the Bureau took me on as a consultant," Neal said. "Since my expertise is specific to Peter's division, I still work with him and his team." He gave Peter a mock glare. "And what do you mean, _was_ the best? When was that last time you spent three years trying to pin someone down?"

"Boys..." Elizabeth said when Peter opened his mouth to retort. She caught Carlene's and Sebastian's puzzled expressions and said, "They bicker like this all the time. It doesn't mean anything, really."

"Don't tell me I managed to con _you_ , Elizabeth," Neal said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I thought you were too smart for that."

"Hush you," Elizabeth said, swatting him lightly on the arm.

Neal grinned and Peter rolled his eyes but there was a fond smile on his face. "An unlikely friendship, I grant you," Peter said to their guests. "But it works."

With a sigh, Sebastian and Carlene stood. "As much as we've enjoyed ourselves, we really must be going," Sebastian said. "Peter, Neal, I'm glad I could be of help. And Elizabeth, a pleasure to meet you."

"Come back any time," Elizabeth said and Peter nodded agreement.

"And if they're not home, you're welcome at my place," Neal said.

"Can you show us?"

Peter retrieved a mirror and brought up an image of the loft and showed them.

"We look forward to visiting again," Sebastian said as the grey oval appeared.

"Likewise," Elizabeth said before they stepped through and were gone. She let out a breath. "A very interesting couple," she said.

"That's putting it mildly," Peter said. "And I'm glad they were willing to help."

"They're good people," Elizabeth said. She gave him a quick kiss. "Just like you," she said then headed for the kitchen adding, "Neal, you're staying for dinner?"

"I have no plans this evening," Neal said. "I'd be delighted."

"Not even with Moz?" Peter asked.

"Moz is busy with something you probably don't want to know about," Neal said. "Something _I_ probably don't want to know about." AS Peter got comfortable on the couch, Neal settled back in the chair. "So, time travelers," he said.

"Sure looks that way," Peter said.

"Do you think you could live off grid like they do?"

"Not full time," Peter said. His mouth quirked in a smile. "I like my baseball too much," he said. "But I used to go camping with my dad for a few weeks each summer when I was a kid. What about you?"

"Now Peter, you know I like my comforts," Neal said a bit impishly.

Peter chuckled. "I knew it," he said. "You're soft, Caffrey."

Neal shrugged, the smile still present. "Probably," he said. "But I wouldn't say no to an invitation if offered."

"You want to case their house," Peter said teasingly.

"No I don't, Peter," Neal said, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't steal from them. But I admit to being curious about what else they have. Their art collection _was_ impressive."

"You never happened to come into possession of any of it, have you?" Peter asked, mock suspiciously.

"Not that I'm aware," Neal said. "Actually, no, I didn't. I didn't recognize any of the pieces I saw, just the artists."

Peter let out a breath and settled more comfortably on the couch. "I'd still like to know how he does it," he said. "I'd like to know how _I_ do it for that matter."

"I thought you'd given up on that," Neal said.

"I have for the most part," Peter said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not still curious."

Elizabeth stuck her head out of the kitchen. "Face it hon, you're just that special," she said.

"I can't disagree with that," Neal said. "After all, you _are_ 'Special' Agent Burke..." He grinned when Peter rolled his eyes then sobered, asking curiously, "Do you think we'll see then again?"

"Oh, I"m pretty sure we will," Peter said. "Just a feeling."


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets the chance to repay the favor to Sebastian.

Peter was sitting in his office, going over the latest (boring) mortgage fraud case when a disturbance in the bullpen caught his attention. Striding across the floor was Sebastian Blakemore and he was moving with a purpose. Peter stepped out and spoke to the agent who was trying to question him.

"Let him up," Peter said. "It's okay." Once they were safely behind glass walls and the door closed, Peter took a better look at his visitor. What he saw was a man who was very angry...and frightened though he was controlling it. "What is it?"

"Carlene," Sebastian said. "She's been taken."

"When?"

"Not _here_ ," Sebastian said. "Back home."

"Do you know who? What do they want?"

"The person responsible is Lady Alana Arledge," Sebastian said. He paused to collect himself and started from the beginning. "We're in the City for the Season," he said. "We were running errands, doing the rounds and four men came upon us. They took Carlene."

"And this...Lady Arledge? How is she involved?" Peter asked.

"She told me she'd arranged the kidnapping," Sebastian said. "I believe her because she's always hated Carlene. Well, she's hated that Carlene got what she's always wanted, namely my titles and my wealth. Alana is something of a social snob, considers Carlene too low born to be my Lady and my Duchess."

"And what does she want?"

"My divorce from Carlene," Sebastian said. "It would be difficult at best considering my status even if I wanted to." He paused. "I need your help, Agent Burke. You're the only one I know who can find her."

"All right," Peter said, closing the file. "But we can't leave from here." He quirked a brow. "Any ideas how to leave without arousing suspicion?"

"From the elevator," Sebastian said as they stood. "How do you think I got up here?"

"Anything else you can tell me?" Peter asked as they stepped onto the elevator.

Sebastian paused and the grey oval appeared as the doors closed. "She's been blindfolded and bound," he said after a moment, then saw Peter's question. "Our bond. All she's been able to tell me for sure is she's not in the City." Peter looked around. He recognized the room - he and Neal had been brought there after Sebastian had rescued them from Angelo Carter. "If I'm going to find her, I need a mirror," he said. "I usually keep one in my desk but that's a few hundred years out of reach."

"Two hundred four if you want to get picky," Sebastian said, handing him the same mirror he'd used before. "I was prepared." He stilled, anger flickering over his face then he let out a breath of amusement. "That's my girl," he murmured. "Seems her captors tried to...get fresh."

"What did she do?"

"One has a rather sore leg," Sebastian said.

"Their mistake," Peter said. "You'd be surprised at how many make it." He looked into the mirror, watching as it clouded briefly then showed Carlene, blindfolded and bound to a heavy wooden chair with thick ropes. A moment later, he saw her relax and nod. He expanded the view to show the front of the house, finding it was in a rural area, surrounded by expansive lawns that were somewhat overgrown. "You recognize this place?" Peter asked, showing him the view.

"I've never been there that I recall," Sebastian said. The oval appeared again. "Shall we?"

"I'd rather you stayed here," Peter said.

"Wouldn't you insist if it was Elizabeth?" Sebastian asked. "I can handle myself."

Peter let out a breath. Sebastian was right. In fact, Peter had been in Sebastian's position not long before when Carter had taken Elizabeth. "All right," he said. "Let's go get your wife."

 

They stepped out right beside the house. "She's in the southwest corner," Peter said.

"This way," Sebastian said, leading the way. They stopped below a window about halfway around the house and the oval appeared again.

"Sebastian."

"We'll have you out in a few minutes," Sebastian said as he and Peter entered the room. As he went to the door to look out, Peter removed Carlene's blindfold.

"Hold still," Peter said. "I'm going to burn the ropes off...unless you have a knife on you."

"Never needed one," Sebastian said. He paused, peering out. "Agent, are you armed?"

"No, gun's in my office, locked in my desk. Why?"

"Because we're about to get company," Sebastian said. Suddenly, the door was shoved open and a rather large man pushed his way in. Without hesitation, Sebastian grabbed his head and twisted, resulting in a sickening crack before the man crumpled to the floor. Peter shot him a look but said nothing as he burned through the ropes holding Carlene to the chair.

"Let's get out of here," Carlene said as soon as she was free.

 

Once they were back in the sitting room, Peter leaned against the wall, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You have some explaining to do," he said. "That wasn't the first time you've killed someone. It was too quick, too practiced."

"No, it wasn't the first time," Sebastian said evenly, getting himself a drink then handing Peter one. "At last count, it's in the neighborhood of two dozen."

"Are you saying you're a serial killer or something?"

"Agent Burke...Peter," Carlene said. "You're law enforcement. What does the law say about killing to protect others?"

"Is that what you did?" Peter asked.

"Every time," Sebastian said.

"Two dozen people are alive because he killed someone," Carlene said. "I'm one of them. So is my sister."

"No jury would convict you if you were brought to trial," Peter said. "Not if the evidence pointed to defense of another."

"There are two dozen people who would testify on his behalf," Carlene said.

Peter sighed. "Well, it's not like I could charge you," he said. "I assume you left no evidence anyway."

"DNA perhaps," Sebastian said. "But I'm not in any database, as your partner discovered."

"So nothing to compare it to," Peter said. He ran a hand over his face and sipped his drink. "No one would believe me anyway," he said. "A time traveling serial killer?" He shook his head, bemused.

"Any more than they'd believe what you can do," Carlene said. "I know it was you who found me...with the scrying."

"It was Carlene who suggested it," Sebastian said. "She told me to go to you, ask for your help."

"And I'm glad I could," Peter said. He straightened. "To be honest, I never thought you were a bad person," he said. "I've learned to listen to my gut since it rarely steers me wrong. And it tells me you're not a violent person. Not ordinarily."

"I've never enjoyed taking a life," Sebastian said. "But when a victim..."

"I understand," Peter said. "Even though I work White Collar, I've been involved in on-duty fatalities a few times." He sipped his drink again. "Once it involved Neal. His former boss had a gun on him, about to pull the trigger..." He shrugged. "So I took the shot."

"And that's what I do," Sebastian said. "Did. Except I didn't use a firearm."

Peter finally took a seat. "I've been wondering," he said. "Do you have _any_ idea how you do it? The shortcut? The time travel?"

"All I can tell you is I think of when and where I wish to go and the shortcut takes me there," Sebastian said. "I don't know the mechanics of it."

"Yeah, that's how it is with me," Peter said. He finished his drink and stood. "I really should be getting back," he said.

"Of course," Sebastian said. "The elevator?"

"As long as no one sees me just appear," Peter said.

 

Peter stepped off the elevator onto the twenty first floor and made his way up to his office, thinking about the day he'd just had. He'd started with embezzlement and mortgage fraud and ended up traveling two hundred plus years into the past to help rescue someone's wife as well as learning that the man he'd helped was technically a serial killer. He'd just taken his seat when he saw Neal bounding up the stairs, holding a file. "What have you got?" he asked.

"This? It's a prop," Neal said, dropping into the visitor's chair.

"Since when do you need a prop to come into my office?' Peter asked.

"I don't, really," Neal said. "So, where did you and Sebastian disappear to and why didn't you tell me you were going?"

"First, I didn't tell you because you were out chasing a lead...or was it meeting with Moz?"

"Same thing," Neal said. "And second?"

"He needed my help," Peter said. "Carlene was taken by...a rival, held prisoner."

"Don't they have some sort of bond?" Neal asked.

"She couldn't tell him anything really useful," Peter said. "Not blindfolded and bound."

"So he needed you to find her," Neal said then paused. "You went back."

"I doubt I could have found here from here," Peter said. "Anyway we located her and got her out, got her back home."

Neal studied his partner a moment. "There's something else," he said.

Peter sighed. "Seems our time traveling friend is also a serial killer," he said.

"A what?"

"Serial killer," Peter repeated. "While we were getting Carlene free, one of the guards came in and Sebastian snapped his neck. No hesitation and very efficient."

"He'd done it before," Neal said.

"About two dozen times from what he said. He was very up front about it," Peter said.

"Did he say why?"

"Defense of another," Peter said.

"And you believe him?"

Peter let out a breath. "Yeah, I do," he said. He sat back. "So, Carlene's back at home, everything's good."

"So why was she kidnapped? What did this person want?"

"The woman behind it wanted Sebastian to divorce Carlene," Peter said. "Seems she doesn't think Carlene is high born enough. Plus there's the titles and wealth."

"Titles," Neal said. "Plural. That's unusual. It's usually one per."

"That's what Sebastian told me," Peter said.

"So did you find this woman?"

"Not our priority," Peter said. "And Sebastian didn't seem interested. He just wanted Carlene back."

Neal sat back. "So, a time traveling serial killer," he said. "No one would believe it."

"That's what I said," Peter said. "Even if I had proof of what he told me, I couldn't tie him to it. No evidence. Carlene told me she was one of the victims he helped, along with her sister.

"You think that's how they met?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Peter said. "It seems nothing about them could be considered normal."

 

"Hey hon," Elizabeth said when Peter got home. "How was your day?"

"Oh, the usual," Peter said, removing his jacket and giving her a kiss. "Mortgage fraud, embezzlement, going two hundred years in the past to help Sebastian rescue his wife from kidnappers and discovering he's a serial killer."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise, obviously not expecting the recitation. "Serial killer?" she asked.

"Not a Jack the Ripper or Ted Bundy type," Peter said. "Defense of another...about two dozen times...Carlene and her sister included."

"Wow. Okaaaay..." Elizabeth said, still processing what she'd heard. "And he just told you this?"

"After I saw him snap a guard's neck," Peter said.

"He doesn't look that strong," Elizabeth said after a moment.

"Doesn't need to be," Peter said. "You just need the right leverage. Anyway, I suspected something since he didn't hesitate and he made it look...easy." He saw Elizabeth's uncertain, almost worried expression. "I don't think he's a violent person, El. Not when he doesn't have to be."

"But he's killed people," Elizabeth said.

"So have I," Peter reminded her gently. "Adler, Corman..." He cupped her face. "I don't think he did it just because he could but because he thought there was no other way."

Elizabeth nodded. "I see what you're saying," she said. "It's just it's not every day you find out you've met a serial killer."

"That serial killer helped me save you," Peter said. "And I'm very grateful for that." He regarded her a moment. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Elizabeth said. "It'll just take me a while to process, that's all."

"Well, you could think of it this way - he's been dead for over a hundred and sixty years," Peter said. "I did some more research."

"Yeah, until he steps through that grey thing - what did he call it? A shortcut? - into this time," Elizabeth said.

"Good point," Peter said. "But that doesn't change who he is. He helped people even though that help involved killing someone."

"Do you think it bothered him?" Elizabeth asked.

"I think it did," Peter said. "He was...careful when he told me. There was no satisfaction when he said it. I think he learned to compartmentalize it. I know how difficult it is to deal with. You know I do."

"Yeah, I remember Corman," Elizabeth said. "You lost part of your magic for two months after that."

"Because I had to work through what I'd done," Peter said. "I can look at it objectively now and I imagine Sebastian's done the same."

"As long as everyone's okay..." Elizabeth said, leaning into him.

"Carlene's fine, Sebastian is too...now...or then. Whatever," Peter said, holding her close and smiling when he heard her huff out a laugh. "Yeah, hard to decide what tense to use with him, isn't it?"

"I just realized...our lives aren't normal, are they?" Elizabeth said.

"Would you want them to be?" Peter asked, looking down at her.

Elizabeth considered the question but not for long. "No, not really, I guess," she said. "It's certainly interesting, what with your magic and now a time traveler among our acquaintances."

"And an ex-con and a paranoid conspiracy theorist as friends," Peter added.

"Not friends," Elizabeth said, releasing him and patting him on the chest. "Family. Even Moz." She went to the kitchen, returning with a beer for Peter and a glass of wine for herself and they settled on the couch. "So, tell me about it," she said. "Tell me how my husband helped rescue a damsel in distress..."


	40. Chapter Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, Elizabeth and Neal get a chance to live in Sebastian's world.

Elizabeth looked up at the knock on the door, excusing herself from her phone conversation. "I'll call you back, my dear," she said. "Look into that florist we're considering and see if they can offer a better deal." When she opened the door, she found a dark haired, blue eyed man - and it wasn't Neal. "Sebastian," she said. "What brings you here?"

"We were wondering if you, Peter and Neal are free this weekend," Sebastian said as he entered.

"I am but I don't know about Peter and Neal," Elizabeth said. "Sometimes a case can keep them busy for days. Let me see." She quickly dialed Peter's number, waving Sebastian to a seat as she waited. "Hey hon," she said when Peter answered. "Sebastian's here and he's wondering if we're free this weekend. Neal too."

"We should be," Peter said. "The criminal underground is suspiciously quiet right now. All we have is the usual...and paperwork that can wait. Why? What's going on?"

"He'd like to know why," Elizabeth said to Sebastian. "So would I, really."

"We're having a get together," Sebastian said as Elizabeth put the phone on speaker. "A reunion of sorts. We'd like the three of you to attend."

"If it's family..." Elizabeth started uncertainly.

"Family of choice," Sebastian said. "And you're more than welcome."

"Oh...well hon, what do you think?" Elizabeth asked.

"Sure beats staying in the city," Peter said. There was rustling in the background and they heard Peter ask Neal if he had any plans that weekend. The answer was indistinct and Peter relayed it. "What should we bring?"

"Just an overnight bag," Sebastian said. "For two days. Everything else will be provided." He paused as if listening then said, "Carlene wishes to know if any of you have any dietary restrictions."

"No, not that I can think of," Elizabeth said. "Neal?"

"None here either," Neal answered.

"Any preferences?"

"Whatever you'll be serving will be fine, I'm sure," Elizabeth said. "Although Peter does like his beer."

"And Neal likes his wine," Peter said. "When should we be ready?"

"Is Friday afternoon acceptable? Around two o'clock?" Sebastian asked.

"I think we can cut out early," Peter said. "Like I said, not much going on."

"Very well," Sebastian said. "I;ll see you Friday afternoon." He stood and gave Elizabeth a slight bow before the oval appeared and he stepped through.

Elizabeth took the phone off speaker and brought it to her ear. "I'll start getting us ready," she said. "And I'll ask the Dillons to watch Satch for the weekend."

"Sounds good," Peter said. "I should be home at a decent hour. Love you."

 

Peter got home early Friday afternoon with Neal in tow to find three bags sitting in the living room.

"Still slow, huh?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, I left Jones in charge," Peter said. "Everything ready?"

"Yeah. Bags are packed and Satch is with the Dillons until Sunday afternoon," Elizabeth said. "Just waiting for Sebastian."

Peter glanced at his watch. "He said two o'clock. Sill have a bit," he said.

Neal noted the look Peter gave him and said, "I'm betting this little get together is an informal affair so no, no suits. Jeans and T-shirts. I even have tennis shoes."

"Speaking of which, you two should go change," Elizabeth said, shooing them upstairs. "Neal, you can leave your suit in the guestroom closet."

As the two men went upstairs, Elizabeth went through the house, checking to see that the doors were locked, the windows closed and secured, the oven and lights were off. When they came back down, she couldn't help but grin at Neal. He looked to be barely out of college, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers.

"Do I pass inspection?' Neal asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Definitely," Elizabeth said.

A few minutes later, the oval appeared and Sebastian stepped through. "I'm not early, am I?" he asked.

"Not at all," Elizabeth said. "We're ready when you are."

Sebastian waved toward the oval and they grabbed their bags and followed him through.

As soon as they stepped through, Carlene separated herself from a group of five or six and met them by the house. "Glad you could make it," she said with a smile. "Let me show you to your rooms."

They followed her inside and upstairs where she stopped by a door about halfway down the hall. "Peter, Elizabeth, this is yours. Neal, you're next door. We'll be out back when you've settled. Downstairs, take a left and straight through the kitchen."

Elizabeth caught her breath when she and Peter entered the room, seeing the large bed against the far wall, the dresser by the window, flanked by a cheval mirror. Across from the dresser was a wardrobe. "It's beautiful,' she said.

"Looks like a five star," Peter said then smiled a bit impishly. "Neal will like it."

Once they unpacked, they made their way downstairs, meeting up with Neal on the way. As soon as they exited the house, a young woman strode confidently toward them. "You must be Peter, Neal and Elizabeth," she said. "I'm Janelle, Carlene's sister. Let me introduce you to the others."

"How many are there?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"All of us made it this year," Janelle said. "About two dozen."

"So this is an annual thing then," Neal said.

"For the last few years," Janelle said.

 

The introductions made, Elizabeth found herself sitting next to a dark skinned woman named Tamika and she couldn't help but notice the numerous scars. "May I ask what happened?" she asked. "If I'm being nosy, just tell me."

"No, it's all right," Tamika said. "I get the question all the time. Short version is crazy boyfriend started cutting me up, Sebastian showed up and...stopped him."

Elizabeth nodded, showing she understood then let out a breath. "So, what do you do, Tamika?"

"I'm a wedding planner," Tamika said. "You?"

"Close. I'm an event planner," Elizabeth said. "Though I've done my share of weddings."

"So you've had your share of problem clients," Tamika said dryly.

"Oh honey, I could tell you stories," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes.

Tamika grinned. "I just bet," she said. "Me too."

 

"So, FBI huh?" The question to Peter came from an older gentleman named Brandon.

"White Collar. You?"

"Private investigator," Brandon said. He turned to Neal. "You a Fed too?"

"Close. Consultant," Neal said. "I work with Peter and his team, helping them close cases in my area of expertise."

"And what is your area of expertise?"

"He's an expert in art forgery, bond forgery, theft and confidence schemes," Peter answered for him.

Neal rolled his eyes but said, "I have practical experience."

"Yeah, he was suspected in a number of crimes but only a charge of bond forgery stuck."

"So you were a con," Brandon said with a shrug. "Hey, no judgement from this crowd."

They were startled by a pained exclamation by the firepit. Another woman, who'd been introduced as Cassie, sat holding her foot. Immediately, Peter was on his feet and hurrying over. "What happened?' he asked, crouching beside her.

"Stepped wrong and twisted my ankle," Cassie said, sounding strained.

"I'll get something to wrap it with," Carlene said, turning to go.

"No need," Peter said. He addressed Cassie. "May I?" he asked, indicating her foot. Cassie nodded and Peter gently held her foot in one hand while he ran the other over the joint. A few minutes later, he asked, "Better?"

Cassie drew a deep breath and flexed her ankle, looking surprised when it didn't hurt. "How...?"

"Peter also has...unusual abilities," Carlene said. "That was one of them."

"Can you time travel like Sebastian?" a man named Mark asked curiously.

"No, I can't," Peter said. "We got here the same way you did, I imagine."

"So what _can_ you do?' a man named Anthony asked as the others gathered around. Seeing Peter's hesitation, Anthony added, "We can keep a secret. We've kept Sebastian's..."

Peter glanced at Elizabeth then at Neal who both shrugged, leaving the decision to him since it was his magic. He sighed and considered a moment. He opened his hand and colored lights danced around those assembled.

"Come on, Peter, show them what you've really got," Neal said a little impishly.

Peter responded with an impish smile of his own which morphed into a grin when Neal yelped as his feet left the ground "I can see in the dark too," he said, setting Neal down then paused. "Neal, my wallet. Now."

"Have to keep in practice, Peter," Neal said a little too innocently. He tossed the wallet to Peter, who froze it mid air.

"Uh-huh," Peter said skeptically as he retrieved his wallet.

"He does that a lot?" Tamika asked.

"He used to," Peter said. "And you don't need to practice, Neal."

"You gonna show them the shape change?" Neal asked.

"Maybe later," Peter said. "And no, not Monica. Your interest in her is starting to border on the unhealthy."

"Well, if you hadn't made her so gorgeous..." Neal said.

"Shape change?' Brandon asked.

"No shape change exactly," Peter said. "More that I can change my appearance...and gender." He looked around at the crowed, seeing nothing but curiosity. "One more," he said, bringing his hand down and seeing his vision ripple, followed by the surprised expression of those around him. "I have a couple others too, he said, reappearing.

"He can scry and transfer any or all his abilities to someone else," Neal said.

"For good?" Cassie asked.

"No, just temporary," Peter said.

"Hon, you forgot the fire," Elizabeth said.

"I did, didn't I?" Once more, Peter opened his hand and flames filled it, startling some of the others.

"Okay, how do you do that? Any of it?' Jason asked.

"I wish I could tell you," Peter said as they all took seats around the firepit. "I was eleven when I found out about the first one. The last one was just a couple years ago." He laid a hand on Neal's shoulder.

Neal shivered and shot Peter a look. "Okay, which one?" he asked.

"Take your pick," Peter said.

"Really?"

"Ah ah. No levitating me," Peter said sternly.

"Buzzkill," Neal muttered.

"Not me either," Elizabeth said when Neal looked at her.

Neal gave it up as a bad job and instead opened both hands - one holding fire, the other a soft white light. "If he uses this one at full power," he said, lifting the hand with the light. "Everyone but he and I would be taking a nap."

"Why not you?" Sebastian asked curiously.

"Because it's mine. At least until tomorrow," Neal said. "It's never affected Peter."

"Am I right in assuming that not many people know about this?" Brandon asked.

"Only three people before Sebastian found out," Peter said. "I acted without thinking when Neal and I were in a potentially dangerous situation."

"I thought White Collar was the 'safe' division," Brandon said dryly.

"So did I," Peter said, matching his tone. "But lately...not so much." To get attention off himself, he asked to hear the others' stories, finding that all of them had been on the verge of death when Sebastian had arrived on scene. A woman named Shelley had just finished her story - stabbed in the chest by her boyfriend - when Sebastian glanced up then said, "Carlene informs me that dinner is ready." Immediately, half a dozen people got up and headed into the house. In short order, tables were set up, plates and cutlery were stacked at one end and the food set up buffet style.

"So Janelle, what's your story?" Neal asked once everyone was settled.

"Same as Carlene's really," Janelle said. "We both had stalkers. Carlene's cut her up before he tried to strangle her. Mine stabbed me. The odd thing about all our stories is no matter how long we were here recovering, we were only gone a week from home. Tamika there was here almost a year. I was here about three weeks." She shrugged. "No one's been able to explain it," she said. She regarded the excon a moment. "How'd you find out about Peter's..."

"Magic?" Neal supplied. "We were on surveillance, working a smuggling case. It was my idea to follow two of the members into a warehouse. We got in without them noticing but one of us must have made too much noise and they came looking for us. We couldn't get out without being seen and the next thing I knew, there were two guys - with guns - staring right at us...and they didn't see a thing."

"It freaked you out, didn't it?" Janelle said, amused.

"I admit to being somewhat...unsettled," Neal said. "What really freaked me out was when he sliced open his hand and...erased the cut. Not even a scar."

"That's what he did for Cassie, isn't it? He healed her ankle," Janelle said.

"Exactly."

 

It was getting on toward dark when the dishes were taken back inside and the tables taken down and everyone relaxed with their beverage of choice. Peter had been pleased to find beer in one of the coolers. Someone suggested getting fire going and Neal tossed a small fireball into the tinder and kindling in the firepit.

"That doesn't burn?" Cassie asked.

"No, it doesn't," Neal said. "It...tickles a little. I mean, I can feel the heat but it's not enough to burn."

"And you'll lose it tomorrow?"

"Yeah, it's only for twenty four hours," Neal said. "But Peter can give it back to me if I need it for a case."

"And have you?"

"A few times," Neal said. "We were going to meet with a shady art dealer once and he...well, I'll just say he didn't like me. Since we knew what he was selling and I'm the resident art expert, I went undercover with Peter. He gave me the shape change and I went in as..." And he gave the name a full French inflection. "Mademoiselle Sophia Delacroix."

"You were a woman?" Cassie asked, stifling a laugh.

Neal grinned. "It was an...interesting experience," he said. "I had help from Elizabeth with wardrobe and accessories though."

"And who's Monica?"

"She's one of Peter's," Neal said. "About five two, black hair, deep blue eyes. Almost elfin looking. Very petite. She's gone in with me a couple times."

"You talk about her like she's a separate person," Cassie observed. "She isn't, is she?"

"No, she's Peter," Neal said. "It just helps us from getting confused, I guess."

"This...magic really helps you with the work the two of you do, doesn't it?"

"It's saved our asses more than once," Neal said.

"Has he ever killed someone with it?" Cassie asked.

Neal looked over at Peter, who was in deep discussion with Brandon about the differences and similarities in their jobs, then said quietly, "Just once. We were undercover as buyers, trying to get the goods on a smuggler. He got antsy, pulled a gun on us. He shot me, point blank. Peter told me later he killed the guy with a fireball. He lost that part for almost two months after. Turned out the guy was also selling kids."

"He's not a violent man, is he?"

"Only when he has to be but he still doesn't like it," Neal said. "I get the feeling Sebastian's the same way."

"No, he's not," Cassie said. "I remember when I was here, recovering from the attack...Sebastian helped me through the nightmares I had for a while. Never got irritated or impatient even though I'm sure I woke him up in the middle of the night. He's one of the most gentle people I've ever met."

"And what happened to you?"

Cassie lifted her chin and in the fading light, Neal saw the rough, almost abraded looking line around her neck. "You were garroted?"

"Yeah and I have no idea who it was," Cassie said. "Last thing I remember was passing out." She leaned back on her arms. "So what's your story?"

"Grew up in St. Louis, in Wit Sec because my father was in bed with the Boston mob," Neal said. "Found out my mother lied to me about him. She'd told me he was hero cop who died in the line of duty. Instead, I find out he was still alive, a dirty cop who was guilty of murdering his commanding officer."

"Ouch," Cassie said.

"Anyway, I embark on a life of crime - nothing violent - and my marks were more than able to absorb the loss," Neal said.

"So you're a con in more than one sense," Cassie said. "A convict and a conman."

"Pretty much," Neal said. "But now the only cons I run are Bureau sanctioned."

"And Sebastian? How'd he get involved?"

"Peter and I were being held prisoner by a suspect," Neal said. "Our cover had been blown. We were in a locked room, no other way out then next thing we knew, we were outside. One of the guards saw us and Peter levitated him then froze him...then realized Sebastian was right there."

"Yeah, I can see why he'd want to keep it secret," Cassie said. "The potential for blackmail would be huge."

"Been there, done that," Neal said. "By a CIA agent no less." He shrugged. "We took care of it and made him look like an idiot...in front of the US Attorney General no less. But yeah, he likes to limit those in the know."

"All of us here will keep the secret like Anthony said. Imagine if someone found out what Sebastian can do."

 

It was almost full dark when everyone called it a night and made their way to their rooms. Neal thought he'd have trouble falling asleep, used to the noise of New York filtering through the terrace doors, so unlike the almost perfect quiet of where he was now, but almost as soon as he lay down, he was drifting to sleep.

Next door, Peter and Elizabeth settled into the surprisingly comfortable bed, Elizabeth curled up around her husband. "This is nice," she said.

"Yeah, it is," Peter agreed. "You're enjoying yourself? I noticed you and Tamika seemed to have a lot in common."

"I think we spent most of the day trading stories about clients from Hell," Elizabeth said. "You and Brandon seemed to hit it off."

"Our jobs are more alike than I'd have thought," Peter said. "We're both investigators if you think about it."

"And you don't mind that they know about your magic?" Elizabeth questioned.

"They know about Sebastian's shortcut and haven't told anyone," Peter said. "Besides, if I really minded, I wouldn't have helped Cassie with her ankle."

"You're a good man, Peter Burke," Elizabeth said, giving him a quick kiss good night.

With the house quiet around them, they quickly slipped into sleep.

 

TBC...


	41. Chapter Forty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Sebastian's time, Peter and Neal give the other's something of a show.

Peter woke up, somewhat confused when he realized he wasn't in his own bed in Brooklyn then remembered - Sebastian, the shortcut, the reunion of the people he'd helped. Beside him, Elizabeth stirred then opened her eyes. "Morning hon," he said softly.

"Morning," Elizabeth said. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log," Peter said.

They heard footsteps in the hall as others made their way downstairs. With a sigh, they both got up and got dressed. When they got to the kitchen, they found Neal already there with Carlene and Janelle. "Morning, you two," Neal said with a smile. "Carlene was just showing me the finer points of cooking on a wood fired stove."

"I imagine it'd be trickier than with gas," Elizabeth said interestedly.

Seeing her curiosity, Peter gave her a quick kiss and a nod then made his way outside.

"You cook, Elizabeth?" Carlene asked. "I mean, things other than the usual."

"Elizabeth's one of the finest cooks I know," Neal said.

"Flatterer," Elizabeth said with a smile. "I know my way around a kitchen."

"And your palate? Are you adverse to trying something new?"

"Depends," Elizabeth said.

"Ever had venison?"

"It's been a while," Elizabeth said. "Why?"

"Sebastian went hunting before the get together," Carlene said. "Bagged a good size buck." Seeing the surprise, she added, "We're as self sufficient as possible out here which means hunting for the table and growing our produce. No doubt some of the guys will be going fishing later."

"Ah, I see,' Elizabeth said. "As for the venison, are you thinking roast, stew or steaks?"

"I started a stew last night," Carlene said. "It'll be ready by dinner."

"Not meaning to sound crass or anything but how much property do you have out here?" Neal asked curiously.

"Here, we have about seven hundred acres," Carlene said. "There's also the townhouse in the City and another thousand acres in Scotland." She shrugged. "You're free to explore all you want but if you go into the woods, keep to the footpaths so you don't get lost."

"We'll keep that in mind," Elizabeth said.

Once Elizabeth left, Neal leaned against the table. "Peter told me Sebastian holds two titles. How'd that happen?"

"He became Lord Blakemore after his father died," Carlene said. "He got the Dukedom from a great uncle. And the wealth from both. It's unusual I know, but it happens." She regarded him a moment. "You know about Alana?"

"Just what Peter told me," Neal said. "That she thinks you're too low born to hold the position you do."

"True," Carlene said. "All she really wants is to be Duchess...and the money of course."

"Social climber, huh?"

"She wishes," Carlene said dryly.

"She's a bitch," Janelle said, speaking for the first time.

"Janny!" Carlene admonished.

"Well, she is," Janelle said. "I mean hell, she had you kidnapped for Christ's sake."

"And Peter and Sebastian got me out," Carlene said. "She's been trying to get Sebastian for years and she's no closer now than she was before."

"I know the type," Neal said. "They want what they want and screw whoever's in the way."

"The man Peter shot? The one who had you at gunpoint?"

"Yeah," Neal said. "Ran a Ponzi scheme. I met him when I started a long con on him. My plan didn't work but his did. He got away with close to a billion dollars. Then there was the Nazi U-boat. During that fiasco, he'd arranged to have one of my best friends shot..." He sighed, mouth quirked in a rueful smile. "It's a long, complicated story," he said. "I'll tell you about it sometime. And anyway, this is supposed to me a happy occasion, right?"

"You've had an interesting life, haven't you?" Carlene said, amused.

"More interesting than most, I suppose," Neal said. "It's still interesting but now I'm not constantly looking over my shoulder and hoping the FBI doesn't catch me."

 

Outside, Peter and Elizabeth ventured into the woods, following the footpaths as Carlene had advised. "This is so different than Brooklyn, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked, her voice hushed as if in deference to the location. It was as if the trees would frown on anything louder.

"It's...peaceful," Perter agreed as they walked slowly along the path, holding hands.

Presently, they heard voices up ahead and exchanged a look. After a few twists and turns, they found themselves in a clearing dominated by a large pond, around which sat three men - Brandon, Mark and Jason - fishing poles held somewhat negligently.

"Any luck?" Peter asked.

"Plenty," Jason said, indicating the string of more than half a dozen fish laying beside him. "Brandon's got another eight and Mark has..."

"Ten," Mark supplied.

"I take it it's not catch and release," Peter said.

"Nope," Mark said. "Out here it's whatever gets caught gets eaten." He gestured at a few large rocks that sat around the perimeter of the pond. "Have a seat," he said.

"I'd think you'd be done, what with the size of the catch you already have," Peter said as he and Elizabeth found seats.

"There's more than two dozen of us," Brandon said. "And even if these aren't used this weekend, it's less work for Carlene and Sebastian later."

"So you're helping them stock up," Elizabeth said.

"He saved our lives," Mark said with a shrug. "Least we could do, you know?" He gestured at his pole. "Wanna try your luck?"

"No but thanks," Peter said with a smile.

 

Back at the house, someone had pulled out a Frisbee and five or six were tossing it back and forth. On one such pass, it went sailing well overhead, lifted by a gust of wind, to get stuck high in one of the trees.

"Damn," Anthony said, surveying the situation.

"Wanna fly?" Neal asked, standing next to him. "Easier than climbing."

"You can...?"

"I still have a few hours yet," Neal said. "Ready?"

Anthony looked uncertain for a moment then shrugged, following Neal to the tree in question. "Now what?"

"You don't need to do anything," Neal said. "Except try not to freak out." He stepped back and slowly lifted his hand, causing Anthony to rise gently until he was even with the Frisbee, which he easily retrieved then Neal brought him back down.

"Okay, only one thing I can say about that," Anthony said with a grin. "Totally awesome!"

"I know, right?" Neal said, answering the grin.

"Are you showing off, Neal?" Peter asked, coming up behind his partner.

"Who? Me? Of course not," Neal said. "I was just assisting Anthony in retrieving their Frisbee."

"It beat climbing," Anthony said.

"You'd have done the same thing," Neal said. 

"I _have_ done the same thing," Peter said. "Remember when Moz found out about that one?"

"Yeah, he thought it was Elizabeth's," Neal said.

"This Moz knows about your magic?" Anthony said, tossing the Frisbee to Janelle and joined Peter and Neal by the firepit.

"He's the first one I actually told," Peter said. "He's smart and would have figured it out eventually."

"And you trust him with it?"

"Yeah, I do," Peter said. "He and I weren't exactly on the best terms when we first met - he tolerated me for Neal's sake - but now he trusts me more than he does other Federal employees. He's even helped me on some cases."

"If you knew Moz, that's huge," Neal said. "I love him like a brother but...quirky doesn't even come close to describing him. He's brilliant but he's also a world class conspiracy theorist. He'd like it here because it's completely off grid."

"But he does like his comforts," Peter said.

"Especially his wine," Neal said.

"Don't you mean _your_ wine?" Peter asked, amused. He turned back to Anthony and said, "Yeah, I trust him with knowing about my magic. He hasn't given me a reason not to."

"Oh, that reminds me," Neal said. "Moz told me the obstacle course is ready whenever you have the time. Just let him know."

"No arrows this time?"

"Rock salt and paintballs is as lethal as it'll get," Neal said. 

"You wanna go?"

"Sure. It'll be fun," Neal said.

"Obstacle course?"

"Moz set up a course so I could test my magic, helps keep me in shape in a way," Peter said.

"I'd like to see that," Anthony said.

"You might not be able to," Peter said. "Depends on how much of it's in the dark."

"Moz has nightvision on the cameras," Neal said.

"Russian surplus?' Peter asked, mouth quirked.

"What else?" Neal responded.

"You live in New York, right?"

"Brooklyn actually," Peter said. "Why?"

"I live in Queens," Anthony said. "The BQE practically runs through my back yard. I really would like to see you in action if you can get it cleared with this Moz."

"I can ask," Neal said. "No guarantees though."

"No guarantees in anything really," Anthony said. "But I'd appreciate it if you could."

"I imagine most of you would," Neal said.

"Well, yeah but we're spread out all over the country," Anthony said. "From Maine to Oregon."

Once again, Peter laid a hand on Neal's shoulder, feeling the tremor pass through his partner. At Neal's questioning look, he said, "I figure if you're going to run the course with me, you might want to practice. When was the last time you had it?"

"Before yesterday? The Gonzales case," Neal said.

"That wasn't the full set," Peter said.

"But what to practice with," Neal said.

"Our last time at Merlin," Peter said after a moment. "Still remember the act?"

"Yeah," Neal said as they stood. "So let's put on a show for these guys."

It only took as long for word to spread as it it took Peter and Neal to take their places about fifteen feet apart. Simultaneously, fire filled their hands and they lobbed them back and forth. It was Peter who froze the first one mid flight. It was followed by four others, all burning merrily in mid air.

"Wow, a magic show with actual magic," Janelle commented to Elizabeth, watching as each fireball fell and was extinguished.

In lieu of cards, they gathered small stones from around the firepit, taking turns with freezing them until all hung suspended. Peter gestured and they fell before he turned to Elizabeth. "We don't have a ladder but I think the roof would work..."

"I love you hon, but this is your show," Elizabeth said.

"The last time it was just us," Neal said. "Lift me up."

They stood next to the house and Neal rose until he could step onto the roof. He turned to see two dozen faces looking up at him and gave a jaunty salute before pitching over. He barely heard the horrified gasp before he stopped a mere four feet from the ground.

"Hey, at least I didn't cut it as close this time," Peter said when Neal shot him a look as he was helped to his feet to a round of applause.

"Why are you still working for the FBI when you can do _that_?" Jason asked. "You'd clean up."

"I'm not really a magician," Peter said. "I can just do magic. Besides, I like my job."

"He _really_ likes putting the bad guys away," Neal said a little teasingly.

"Somebody needs to. Might as well be me," Peter said.

 

Later that afternoon, Peter lost track of Neal but he had his suspicions about what his partner was up to. He didn't worry though - he believed Neal when he said he didn't want to case the house. With seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth century artifacts literally all over the house, he understood Neal's interest and curiosity. And he was pretty sure he'd stay out of Sebastian and Carlene's bedroom.

It was shortly before dinner was announced that Peter's suspicions were confirmed. "Anything interesting?" he asked when Neal joined him on the porch steps.

"Just about everything," Neal said. "I'm pretty sure they have a very early work by Rembrandt in the sitting room."

"You're not sure?"

"Didn't want to take it down to examine it," Neal said. "And I couldn't get close enough to really look."

"Hey guys, would you mind giving me a hand?" Carlene asked from behind them.

"Sure, whatcha need?" Peter asked as he and Neal stood.

"If you could grab the bowls and silverware..." Carlene said.

"And the rest?"

"I've asked Sebastian to help me with the rest," Carlene said. She looked past them to see Sebastian waalking toward the house.

"I imagine that comes in real handy," Neal said as they went inside.

"Occasionally," Carlene said with an amused smile.

 

Once everyone had served themselves, they once again gathered around the firepit, most talking about the magic show that Peter and Neal had put on earlier and asking the two men questions, which they answered and explained as best they could.

"You've used it undercover?" Brandon asked. "How'd you explain it?"

"We were posing as magicians," Neal said. "Everyone thought it was just smoke and mirrors anyway so no need to explain."

"And the other times?"

"I've become quite...adept at coming up with plausible explanations," Peter said.

"And he can redirect like a master," Neal said.

"Learned from one of the best," Peter said.

"One of the best?" Neal asked, brows raised but his mouth was twitching in a smile.

"You're not the only conman I know," Peter said. "And he's almost as good as you."

"Moz is nowhere near as good as me," Neal said.

"Who said it was Moz?"

Neal regarded him for a moment then sighed. "Fine. Don't tell me," he said.

Peter chuckled and gripped his shoulder. "You forget how long I've had to misdirect when I used my magic," he said. "At least since high school. So yeah, you could call me a conman too. And undercover, that's essentially a con, isn't it?"

"So you admit that a sting and a con are the same thing," Neal said.

"Yeah but sting sounds better," Peter said. "Less...shady."

 

Peter, Neal and Elizabeth stayed out later then the others, just enjoying the quiet of the countryside which was only broken by the pops from the fire.

"Do you think we can come back again?" Elizabeth asked after a while.

"Would you want to?" Peter asked.

"Yeah," Elizabeth said. "I had fun. And it's beautiful out here. Peaceful."

"Definitely a far cry from New York," Neal said, tossing a stick into the flames.

"Would you want to come back?" Peter asked

"If they invited me again," Neal said. "Sure. It's not the Palazzo Sasso but it has its charm. And everyone's...real, you know?"

Peter nodded. "Of course, for us it would depend on our caseload," he said.

"Or you could use your vacation time," Elizabeth said. "Jones is more than capable, you said so yourself. And Yvonne certainly doesn't need me there to hold her hand."

A few minutes later, Peter doused the fire then he and Neal helped Elizabeth back to the house in the growing darkness.

 

"Neal sweety, you ready?" Elizabeth asked the next morning from the door to Neal's room.

"Yeah, I packed last night," Neal said, hefting his bag. "Sebastian's sending us to Brooklyn, right?"

"He said he would," Elizabeth said as they went to meet Peter downstairs.

"That's fine," Neal said. "I can get my suit and catch a cab back to June's."

It was a while before the oval appeared as Sebastian waited for goodbyes to be said then all but Peter, Neal and Elizabeth filed through.

"They meet at Janelle's house every year," Carlene said seeing the question. "Saves Sebastian time."

"Whenever you're ready," Sebastian said.

"Thank you for a wonderful time," Elizabeth said, giving first Carlene then Sebastian a hug.

"We were glad to have you," Carlene said. "You're welcome back whenever you can make it."

The oval appeared again and the three stepped through into the Burke's living room.

"I'll just get my suit then head back to June's," Neal said.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," Elizabeth said.

"I appreciate it but Moz is probably getting a little antsy since I've been incommunicado since Friday," Neal said. "Rain check?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said. Once Neal retrieved his suit and hailed a cab, she headed upstairs, saying, "As nice as it was, I missed the conveniences...like a hot shower so..."

"Save me some hot water," Peter said. "I'm going to go get Satch."

"We should see if we can bring him the next time," Elizabeth said.

Peter thought that was an excellent idea as he walked down the block to the Dillions to retrieve his dog. When he got back with Satch in tow, Elizabeth was just getting out of the shower. "I saved you some hot water," she said, giving him a kiss. "I'll order out while you get cleaned up."

Later, as they relaxed on the couch, Elizabeth asked, "Are you sure you're okay with so many people knowing?"

"I'm fine with it," Peter said. "Everyone I talked to understood the reason why I wanted it kept under wraps. They understood the risks to me if it got out." He squeezed her lightly around the shoulders. "They're good people, hon. I don't think we need to worry." He gestured and the lights filled the room. and he saw her smile.

"As long as you're sure," Elizabeth said.

"I'm positive," Peter said.


End file.
